Amor Vincit Omnia
by Erik's Song
Summary: Christine, though lonely, lives in a world that is ordered and layed out the way she thinks it should be. Then her compassion and curiosity are both tested when a certain masked angel enters her life... EC butRaoul friendly
1. Chapter 1

Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter One Guardian Angel

"Okay everyone, essays on my desk on Monday, please," Mr. Kahn called out over the deafening sound of the tidal wave of eager students making their way towards the door, and freedom for the weekend.

Shrugging, Nadir Kahn suspected that none of his students had heard a word he'd just said. Sighing, he gathered up his briefcase, stood up from his desk, and turned to straighten the desks and organize the classroom a little before departing for home.

With a charming smile, Christine Daae, one of Nadir's favorite students, walked quickly to the front of the room and began to assist him.

"Thanks, Christine. It's hell cleaning up after these people sometimes. You'd swear I was teaching a bunch of children instead of students in their senior year."

Christine laughed lightly. "Yes well, Friday does that to people. They just want their freedom."

Personally Christine wasn't particularly looking forward to her weekend. In fact, she dreaded every second she was forced to stay cooped up at home. All it would mean would be another silent few days trying vainly to make conversation with the elderly grandmother with whom she lived.

After the death of her parents two years previously, Christine had found herself almost completely alone in the world, with nobody but her well-meaning grandmother to care for her. Sadly, the roles had become quite reversed. Christine's grandmother Adele, though kindly and intelligent, was bed-ridden and had been for quite some time, leaving Christine to undertake almost all of the household tasks, and she found herself having to grow up much faster than her peers. It seemed all she ever did was go home to the perpetually silent house, look in on her grandmother who was usually either asleep or melancholy at best if she happened to be awake, cook a meal for the two of them, do whatever household chores and shopping that was required, and then slog through her homework late into the night. Even her one love, music, was taken from her. With the death of her father (which had been but months after the death of her mother) had come the death of her passion for song.

Christine and Charles Daae had sung together constantly; her father accompanying them upon his beautiful violin, which he had loved more than any other earthly possession. Charles Daae had loved three things passionately; his wife Sarah, his daughter Christine, and his music. Christine had acted as his inspiration; hence the two of them had been very close because of the bond music forged between them. Now, each time Christine opened her mouth to sing, she felt a wave of longing sweep over her, rendering her unable to do anything else but sigh and cease to try.

Therefore, slowly and cruelly, each comfort Christine had ever had was torn from her grasp. Without her parents and her music, she felt lost; as though she were wandering aimlessly through life, eagerly awaiting the moment of sleep, when she would be permitted to relax into oblivion.

"Christine? Are you all right?"

Mr. Kahn's concerned voice broke through her deep thoughts and she looked up guiltily into his questioning eyes.

"Oh, yes. Sorry; got distracted that's all. Shall I erase the board for you, Mr. Kahn?"

"Thanks, Christine, you're a gem. Well—I suppose I'll be off. Have a good weekend, then."

Noticing for the first time her history teacher's sorrowful expression, Christine frowned and asked, "Is something wrong Mr. Kahn?" She felt a bit silly to be asking him to confide in her, but then again, they had grown somewhat close over the course of the year, and she felt like she could truly talk to him with no reservations.

"Oh…it's nothing. Just going to—go see my friend, that's all."

Christine smiled knowingly. Mr. Kahn had revealed to her some months ago that he had a mysterious friend whom he would often visit. They had apparently met back when Mr. Kahn had lived in Iran, and they had both made the decision to move to Canada at the same time. Thus, Mr. Kahn frequently dropped by the man's home to visit. Christine had gathered, after much prying on her part, and much reluctant confession on Mr. Kahn's that this particular gentleman was a highly antisocial creature, preferring privacy and solitude to interacting with other people. Mr. Kahn was the only one who seemed to be allowed to visit him, and little was known about him. Christine herself did not even know where this strange man lived, what he looked like, or even his name. Mr. Kahn had decided it would not please his friend if he threw his name around, such was the man's desire for privacy and secrecy.

"I don't know why you put up with him—he seems to make you so miserable. Why does he worry you so much?" asked Christine, with typical insatiable curiosity.

"Oh, Christine, believe me, if I were to go into details and try to explain him to you, we'd be here all night, and you would still not be satisfied I feel sure. Besides, I don't think that you would understand him, you're too young."

Slightly miffed at Mr. Kahn's words, Christine tossed her blonde curls and pretended to storm towards the door.

"Well, in that case, if you find me too immature for your harsh words, by all means spare my delicate ears."

Smiling amusedly at her display, he responded accordingly.

Lifting his hands dramatically in surrender , he looked apologetically at her and cried mockingly, "Oh Miss Daae! You must forgive me! I have been unforgivably discourteous towards you. I beg your pardon."

Christine burst out laughing at this unusual show of humorous antics from her ordinarily serious teacher, and she assured him that she had indeed forgiven him.

Suddenly a bell rang, and Christine jumped.

"My God! I'll miss the bus if I don't run for it! Have a good weekend, and…good luck, if that's the proper sentiment."

"It'll do. Enjoy your weekend as well Christine. And remember your essay."

"I will. Goodnight."

He nodded in acknowledgement as Christine fled the room, skidding to a halt before her locker and fishing out her backpack hurriedly.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she squeaked in surprise, before recognizing a very familiar pair of beautiful blue eyes and blonde hair; her boyfriend, Raoul. Her expression softened slightly as she recognized him. In Christine's dark world, her only two comforts were Raoul, and her best friend Meg Giry, who had to be the sweetest, and yet the most endearingly irritating girl alive.

"You okay, Chris? You look like you thought I was a murderer or something."

She blushed, embarrassed at her frightened squeak of surprise , and explained that she was late for the bus, and had not expected anybody to come up behind her, as she was in somewhat of a hurry, and had been absorbed in her thoughts.

"Relax. It'll be okay. No need to be so jumpy Christine. Hey, how about hanging out tonight? We never get together…sometimes I feel like I don't even have a girlfriend." The last few words were uttered with a subtle edge of bitterness that was very uncharacteristic of raoul. It made Christine feel slightly guilty.

Christine watched as his expression went from boyishly excited to sad and forlorn. Raoul had the most adorable lost-puppy look imaginable, and he was not afraid to use it. He knew full well it melted Christine's tender heart like butter.

"I'm sorry, Raoul. Not tonight. I have to go home and look after Grandma. Then I have that wretched essay to write, not to mention a bunch of bookkeeping to do. I so wish I knew what I was doing with our money half the time. It's so overwhelming trying to remember what I've paid and what bills I haven't, and dealing with income tax and all that. I don't know why they don't just leave Grandma be; she makes so little to begin with, taxing her on her pension is just short of cruelty."

Raoul smiled rather sadly at Christine's little rant. He was aware of her financial difficulty, and he also knew she was the one that was often forced to deal with the responsibilities ordinarily entrusted to adults. A young girl of seventeen shouldn't have all the cares of an adult thrust upon her so quickly, and she had few people to assist her. Raouls' family was quite well off; his father being a successful lawyer, and so he was always aching to help Christine out wherever she needed it. However, Christine possessed unwavering pride, and refused to take what she considered charity from anybody, least of all from her boyfriend. She had accepted the troubles and difficulties before her with admirable calmness and determination.

"Why don't you take it easy tonight, Christine? You're always so tense, and doing all that work and being under so much stress can't be good for you. Please?...Just one quick dinner. A movie maybe? Anything. I just want to see you."

A second bell rang out shrilly, signaling the departure of the first round of buses, and the arrival of the second group. Christine groaned aloud, realizing she had missed her bus.

"No worries, sweetheart. I'll drive you home. Or wherever you want to go."

"Thank you so much Raoul. But I really can't go out tonight. I really should go home and get things sorted out there. Grandma will be worried if I don't come home. Why don't you just drive me as far as your house, and I'll walk the rest of the way. It's only a few blocks down anyway."

Looking uncertain, Raoul shook his head.

"No, I'll drive you to your door. It's cold out, and it's already getting dark. You shouldn't be out by yourself. You'd think growing up in the city would have taught you that, Christine." He looked somewhat impatient with her apparent foolishness.

Christine considered it rather the opposite; having grown up in this setting, (although she liked the country much more) had given her a confidence she would need to walk about alone in the dark streets.

"No no, I'll be fine, Raoul. You needn't go out of your way."

After some hesitation, he nodded reluctantly and took her hand as they headed for the door.

The cold was biting and painful against the skin of Christine's face as they walked out, hand in hand, scanning for the parking lot for Raouls' completely gorgeous black car. Christine, as a general rule, knew next to nothing about cars, not having ever owned or desired one herself, but she knew it was new, extremely expensive, and very powerful.

As Raoul went to open his door and unlock hers, Christine found herself feeling slight resentment at how well off Raoul was compared with her. Pushing that selfish thought away roughly, she opened the passenger door and sank into the comfortable leather seat. Heated, of course. Sighing contentedly, she let the wash of warmth from the car's heater lull her into a slightly more relaxed state.

Raoul leaned across the seat to bestow a quick kiss on her lips before turning and revving the engine. It purred like a contented cat, and the car glided smoothly out of the parking space and onto the street.

Raoul patted the dash board fondly before fixing his gaze partly on the road, partly on the lovely young woman sitting next to him. He reached over and grasped her cool little hand in his own, seeking to warm her cold fingers with his own.

She looked up at him and smiled, but there was a sadness in the expression he could not quite ignore. Although it was normal for Christine's large blue eyes to hold a permanent sadness, a sorrow that was etched into her face like a constant companion, it was unusual for her smile to be so weary and melancholy. Sighing tiredly Raoul turned his full attention to the street ahead of him as he carefully navigated the way to his home.

He had learned long ago that it was futile to try to draw Christine Daae completely out of her shroud of sadness. She had lost a piece of herself when her father had died. It did not appear that he would ever return it to her, and it made Raoul's heart ache for her. However, despite his rather profound thoughts about Christine, he often resented her for never consenting to move on. She was always so deep in her thoughts; sunken into her world of quiet darkness.

"You're really quiet tonight, Chris. More than usual even. Are you sure you're all right?"

Christine pondered this; she supposed she was no worse off than normal, so she replied with a murmur of ascent that was meant to reassure her concerned companion. He shrugged helplessly and pulled up in his driveway, before the grand house in which he lived.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to take you all the way home?"

"Quite. It'll be fine Raoul."

She opened her door, and Raoul climbed out of his seat as well. Walking around the vehicle, he took Christine briefly into his arms for a kiss, and to his relief, she did not pull away, but reciprocated, burying her face into his shoulder momentarily, wishing for his comfort. Then, pulling gently away, she turned for home.

With just a hint of desperation in his voice, Raoul made one last effort to make her stay with him a little longer.

"C'mon Chris, please? Watch a movie. I know you've been dying to see that new one—what's it called… aw, I can't remember. Some musical?"

Christine paused for a moment, then smiling, turned back towards Raoul.

"All right, as long as I'm home early enough to get some work done, I guess a movie wouldn't kill me. Besides, I should tell you, I've missed spending time with you too. And, I'm really sorry for how things have been lately. I feel so overwhelmed sometimes, but that's no excuse to—"

"It's totally okay, honey. I understand you're going through a lot, and I'd never be mad at you for something you have no control over."

Lifting her chin with a finger, he kissed her once more, gently and sweetly. The last vestiges of worry faded from her face, and Christine wrapped her arms around Raoul's waist in a quick hug of thanks.

"Well, let's go, then."

She nodded, and they headed for the nearby movie theatre; a small place with only two movies showing at once.

Christine blinked as they walked out of the theatre several hours later, smiling dreamily at the thought of the film she had just witnessed.

"That was the best movie I've seen in a long time! The lead had such an amazing voice… and I definitely want the soundtrack to that one!"

Raoul grinned at his girlfriend's apparent rapture over the musical. He had never cared for music that much; beyond the usual background noise it provided, he didn't listen to it much unless it had a decent beat, where as Christine could amuse herself by listening to music for hours on end. It was a pity, thought Raoul sadly, that she refused to sing. He had heard her before Charles Daee's death, and knew she possessed a very beautiful gift, if she would only use it.

"I'm glad you liked it. Not my favorite, but—"

"Well, nothing pleases you but plenty of car chases and gun fire," Christine said teasingly, slapping him playfully on the arm.

"Oh right, every sane human being on this earth prefers soppy romances with a few cheesy song-and-dance routines for variety." Raoul countered. Christine was surprised at his rare sarcasm; raoul was many things… sweet, kind-hearted, devastatingly handsome, but witty was not one of them.

"Why don't we stop for a coffee?"

Raoul was determined to keep her for as long as he could, unwilling to waste this opportunity.

"Well, okay! Why not?" Christine exclaimed cheerfully, and they stepped into a little coffee shop on the corner, reveling in the warmth and the enticing aroma of coffee and baked goods.

It had been a long time since Raoul had been able to treat Christine in this fashion, and they ended up having a wonderful time together, although Christine had to admit she longed for slightly more stimulating conversation. Christine was a lover of books, music, philosophy and the like. Typical teen-aged banter, such as the idle chatter she often shared with Raoul, left her feeling strangely empty. However, in the six months of their relationship, and the two years of their friendship before then, Christine had chosen to overlook this fact, since Raoul was so charming and an invaluable friend to her.

Eventually, to their shock, ten o'clock rolled around, the place began to close up, and a rather irritated waitress shooed them out of the shop.

Christine gasped. "God, it's that time already? Grandma must be frantic! I need to get home. Just drop me off at your house and I'll run the rest of the way."

Raoul looked slightly disappointed but hid it quickly behind a mask of his usual bright smile.

"Okay… here we are."

They got out of his car, and Christine went up to him, reaching out to him. Raoul gratefully embraced her tightly, kissing her deeply before finally relinquishing her.

"'night, Raoul. I'll try and call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sounds good, 'night Chris. Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

Christine smiled in answer, but a fist squeezed her heart. Not for the first time, Christine was infinitely glad she had not told Raoul of the nightmares that had plagued her for several months now; the ones that caused her to sit upright in bed, shaking and sobbing violently. She was sure they would only serve to worry him, and Raoul was a very anxious person, and she anticipated that he would make an unbearably unnecessary fuss over the whole matter. Therefore, only Meg, who was slightly more level-headed, had any inkling of the dreams which terrorized Christine, and she was sworn to secrecy. If Meg was anything, it was loyal.

Waving one last time, Christine headed down the sidewalk, homeward bound at last. However, the glow of happiness that had come to life in her soul from the date with Raoul was somewhat stifled by the memories and dark musings that always came upon her when she remembered the nightmares.

As she walked, she continued to think, head down against the biting wind. Her thoughts somehow drifted to her conversation with her history teacher earlier that evening, and she wondered, for the umpteenth time, about Mr. Kahn's mysterious friend. He obviously needed some compassion in his life, if he insisted upon secluding himself and pushing away human contact. She wondered briefly whether or not he felt the way she did; as though part of him had been lost, and people prying into his life, trying to cheer him up, were only worsening the pain. Often, Christine found herself wishing fervently to be alone. Alone with herself. And at the same time, she longed for company and comfort. For the stability her father's presence had offered. Not that Christine had not loved and needed her mother. Sarah Daae had been the kindest and gentlest of souls, and Christine was suitably devastated when the cancer that had ravaged her mother's body for months had finally robbed her of her life. Her father had been so stricken, that he had slipped into a kind of depression after Sarah's death, but he had been consoled by the fact that a living incarnation of his wife's spirit still lived; Christine was his sole solace in his dark emotional turmoil. Then, there had come that terrible night, when the pain had proved too much for Charles Daae, and he had drunk himself into a kind of stupor. Without realizing what he was doing, he had walked out, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a thin t-shirt, and had roamed the area near his house, in the bitter cold of a January night. He had gone out in the wee hours of the morning, when few people were out and about, and those who were had not been concerned with drunken strangers tottering about. They usually had a purpose which occupied all of their attention. He had eventually slipped and fallen onto the sidewalk, promptly passing out and remaining still and sleeping in the frigid weather, surrounded by snow banks and continually assaulted by the fierce winter wind. Canadian winters were nothing to scoff at, and the thermometer had been hovering somewhere around thirty below zero; very cold weather, even for that area.

Christine had been over at Meg's house to spend the night, and she did not know of her father's little escapade. When she arrived home the next day, it was to find a police officer waiting for her. He had explained to her that Charles Daae had been found that morning lying frozen on the sidewalk, clothed poorly against the cold, and clearly unconscious. . By the time he was found, his life had dwindled to a faintly flickering spark, and by the time Christine made it to the hospital, he had already died, and that feeble spark had been extinguished. Her fragile fifteen-year-old heart had broken then, and she had flung herself across the body of her father, weeping desperately into his chest. The doctor had finally managed to pry the distraught girl from her father's body, and he managed to calm her, with the help of a few nurses, and a mild sedative.

So, Christine had been turned over to the care of her grandmother, who at the time had been quite capable of caring for her, but her arthritis had slowly worn her body down, till she was reduced to lying in bed and being cared for by her grand-daughter. Adele resented the fact that her poor Christine was forced to tend to her, but there was little she could do to remedy the situation, and the girl had never showed signs of irritation or unwillingness when it came to looking after her grandmother.

Of course, Christine was not the type of person to show outward signs of her weariness, and she did her best to act as though the burdens she carried were light and did not trouble her, instead of risking hurting those she loved.

Lost in these musings, and still pondering what Mr. Kahn's cold friend's situation could possibly be, she found herself very suddenly face to face with a rather burly youth, perhaps a few years her senior, who was leering menacingly down at her.

"Well well well, what do I see?" he crooned in an oily voice that at once repulsed and terrified her. She opened her mouth to emit one of her piercing screams in the hope that someone would come to her aid, she drew in a deep breath.

"Oh, easy now, beautiful. That's not wise, is it? Wouldn't want anybody else getting hurt, would you? Scream, and I'll make sure whoever comes to help regrets it."

Smiling crookedly at her, he drew a knife and allowed the metal blade to glint before her eye, before settling it ever so gently against the skin of her throat.

Frozen with terror, Christine closed her mouth and stood still, rooted to the pavement, thinking frantically. Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts, and she was more frightened than she could remember being in a very long time.

Suddenly, something caught her captor's attention and he turned, bringing the knife from her throat and concealing it behind his back.

"Good evening… it is a rather cold night to be loitering about like this, and I feel sure this young lady would like to reach her destination. It would be in her best interest to warm up, and I am just as sure that it would be in yours to allow her to proceed unhindered."

Relief and renewed fear swept through Christine simultaneously. The figure that now stood mere feet away from her, was tall, shrouded in shadows, and almost completely obscured and invisible in the night, but for the two ominously glowing pinpricks that were his eyes. Christine shook her head, trying to clear it; she could have sworn the man's eyes were glowing in the darkness like a cat's.

As terrifying and threatening as this man's appearance was, it was his voice that truly captured Christine's attention. It was at once beautiful and dripping with menace. It was cool, yet it seemed to have the ability to carry and express a whirlwind of emotion, should the opportunity arise. A tenor voice, something Christine had always been partial too, with a paralyzing beauty which once again rooted her to the spot. She felt frightened of the chilling power it possessed, but she also felt that she could simply stand and listen to that angelic voice forever. She was conscious of a shiver running down her spine, , and it was not purely a shiver of fear. In that moment, and upon further reflection afterword, Christine felt sure she would never be able to rid herself of the memory of that voice; such was the glorious beauty and power of it.

Fear was swift to seize the upper hand again however, when Christine's wandering eyes fell upon the face of her captor which, having been lighted by a nearby street lamp was pale as death. Gasping, Christine finally registered the choked cries issuing from the stricken boy's mouth, as his fingers clawed at his throat. A lasso of sorts appeared to be looped around his neck, and the figure in the shadows stood calmly, slowly…ever so slowly tightening the rope.

"No!" the youth managed to choke out through his constricted throat.

"I'll do anything! I'll let her go, I'll do whatever you want! Just—just let—me—go—p-plea—"

He never got the chance to finish the word, for the figure loosened the rope so suddenly, that the boy lost his balance and fell to the icy pavement at Christine's feet.

"Be sure you do not try this again. Believe me when I say, you will live to regret it most deeply. Now, be on your way before I decide to undo my generous actions."

Muttering incoherent apologies, Christine's attacker scrambled shakily to his feet. Taking one look at Christine, with unbridled terror in his pale face, he spun on his heel, and ran.

Christine, having just recovered from the extreme shock of the entire scene, asked hesitantly, "How…how can I ever thank—"

He did not give her time to finish, (interrupting people seemed not to bother him at all) he simply turned towards her, fixed her with those eerily glowing eyes, and said in a considerably gentler tone that nevertheless carried a sharp edge, "You would do well to take better care, my dear. I may not be there to lasso the next one."

With that, he whirled around and proceeded to walk briskly away.

"Wait!" Christine called desperately, attempting to catch up with him. "You saved my life just now. Can I at least have your name? Can I not give you something for your trouble? I—I don't have any money, but maybe—I don't know. Let me do something!"

Without stopping, the man glanced over his shoulder at her, and said, "My name is of no consequence, and I will not require anything for my trouble, as you put it. Goodnight."

It was said with such finality that Christine, frightened and shaken as she was, did not dare to argue. Looking confusedly after him, she turned back to the sidewalk and headed once more towards home, this time thankfully, , with no mishaps.

a/n: Well, there you have it. The first chapter of my very first flight into fan fiction. I hope you like it, and if you do, (or if you don't and can offer criticism to make it better) please, please review! If I get reviews, I will continue the story. If not, I might choose not to continue, because what would be the point? Of course, I might just choose to continue for my own entertainment. Anyhow, tell me what you think! As this is my first fic, please be kind.


	2. Dreams

a/n: Thank you for the reviews! Very encouraging for my first fic.

Mominator124: Thanks for the review. I'm flattered that you took the time to criticize it; that's just as pleasing as a compliment. I must apologize for nearly giving you heart failure, and I'm also sorry to have disappointed you. I could change the title if it makes you feel better…lol. As for the young and inexperienced writer thing, you're quite right. I'm only fifteen, and have never dared to undertake this type of thing before.

AprilMayJune: Thanks, you're an absolute gem! I hope my next chapter lives up to your expectations; I would hate to disappoint you.

M. Night Wolf Alona: Aww thank you! I'm eager to write more, so hopefully you will enjoy what comes next.

Please read and review!

Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter Two Dreams

The small boy rolled over in his cage, only to knock his head painfully against the metal bars that acted as his solitary home.

It was barely dawn, and already the harsh voice of the circus manager was ordering him to rise from his fitful slumber and begin the day's work.

"Get up ya useless bit 'o filth! Lazy is what ya are…sleepin' all the day long! Come on! Time is money."

Rattling the bars of the boy's cage incessantly, the man continued to shout, in his raspy voice, hurling terrible insults at the exhausted child, and uttering threats that would have made the strongest of wills crumble, and the bravest man's blood run cold.

Having been released from his little prison--or rather, having been pushed brutally out of it, only to receive a lash of the whip when he lost his balance, the boy began to stumble towards his tent, where he was advertised as "the devil's child" and the "living corpse".

All day long, seemingly without pause, people came in droves to see the living corpse perform. Among other things, the boy performed magic tricks, and sang. Though mistreated and terribly underestimated, the boy at only nine years of age, was already a prodigy, and would undoubtedly become a genius in many fields.

He performed tricks that astonished his spectators, and his voice…there was no describing that voice. A glorious, angelic voice, with the power to render an unprepared listener speechless with awe. The child delighted in singing, for he could sense the control he held over these people, who otherwise spent their time gasping in horror when he was made to remove his mask, or pelting him with insults.

And so the child had lived; never knowing what it was to be loved or accepted by any member of the human race. He had rarely known a moment's kindness, and he had grown to expect nothing but harshness and hatred from the rest of the world.

Upon this particular morning, the air carried a biting chill, and the poorly-clothed boy shivered violently in the cruel cold. Forced to continue with his customary performances, the boy did his best to ignore the aches and pains from sleeping in a cramped metal cage, and pushed aside the lingering pain of the whip. For the umpteenth time, he considered attempting to escape. Most of the other "freaks" in the travelling circus of which he was part had given up all hope of ever being free, and had instead resigned themselves to their unhappy fate.

But this boy was special; he had a faith in his ability to accomplish anything he desired to, were he given the chance. That night, when his master disappeared, (presumably to count and hoard the money that had been earned that day) the boy seized his chance.

There was one kindly guard, whom the boy knew would not hesitate to free any of the poor captive creatures from their cages if he were not afraid of the master's wrath, but the child decided to use the powers of his voice, for even his speaking voice was beautiful and hypnotic, when he wished it to be.

"Geoffrey," he called softly, and the man turned towards the boy's cage.

"What can I do for you, my boy? You've eaten haven't you? I might be able to scrounge up some food for you, if you've not had enough tonight."

"No, no Geoffrey, I've eaten well enough. I do have a favor to ask of you though, if you'd come and listen a moment."

There was no resisting that voice; so gentle, so intriguing.

"Alright. What troubles you?"

"This place, Geoffrey. It is so…horrifying to be afraid of death all the time. I only want release. Please…unlock the cage."

"I'm sorry, but you know I can't do that. Who knows what the master would do to us both. You wouldn't get far you know, I think you're safer where you are, to be honest."

"No, I feel sure I could have my freedom, if you'd only open my cage. Please? For me?"

Now the voice was pleading, and Geoffrey's heart broke for the child staring up at him with such a trusting expression. Before he had realized what he was doing, Geoffrey had fitted a key into the lock, and unlocked the boy's cage.

As though he were being chased by the devil himself, the boy darted off into the night, doing his best to keep to the shadows as he heard voices calling out after him. Soon, his master got wind that the boy had fled, and with a murderous growl, the terrible demon of a man began to chase the boy, shouting aloud all the horrific things he planned to do to his quarry when he had lain his hands on him once more.

Running…running…running, gasping at the stick in his side, willing himself not to pay attention to the danger he was in, concentrating solely upon putting as much distance between himself and the earthly version of the devil. Exhaustion was beginning to win the battle however, and it became more and more of a struggle for the poor boy to maintain his rapid pace, and the cries of his master were growing closer and closer. He would be caught, caught and carried back to that place of unspeakable torture—any moment now, he would feel the whip descend upon his back…

Erik awoke, shaking and drenched in the cold sweat that always seems to accompany nightmares. His heart was still pounding, as though he had actually run the endless race against his brutal master of years ago, and he was forced to take several deep breaths to calm himself.

Rising from his bed, he strode over to his desk, and felt about until his hand touched the cool side of the bottle of whiskey he had left there hours earlier. He filled a glass that was perched dangerously close to the edge of the desk, which he had also disregarded hours before, and drained the contents in its entirety, in one swallow, grimacing at the burning sensation he experienced as it slid down his throat, yet at the same time, relishing the pain. At least this pain was real; tangible. His nightmares had always been vivid, but they had become so much so as of late, that he had to continually reassure himself of the fact that they were merely bits of his memory—things that had happened too long ago to be considered significant to him.

As he did not think he would find a moment of peace for the remainder of the night if he sought sleep again, Erik moved, soundless as a cat, (though there was no true cause to be silent as he was quite alone in the house) towards the music room, finding his way effortlessly in the darkness. Erik was a great lover of darkness; it protected and shielded him from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, it comforted him, and it was his faithful friend, the one thing in the world he could rely upon.

Reaching the music room, Erik proceeded towards the grand piano, for once preferring its gentler sound, to the thunderous notes of the enormous organ he normally favored.

Seating himself at the magnificent instrument, he caressed its ivory keys almost lovingly, while his thoughts wandered freely.

Suddenly, a vision of that young girl's face leaped into his mind, blocking all else. She had been beautiful…even in her blind terror, and though it had caused him pain to see her so frightened of him, he had rejoiced at being able to finally speak to her, if only for a brief moment, and rescuing her was undoubtedly foolish, but he did not fully regret it. Foolish and rash it was true, but saving her from her attacker had given him a surge of fierce pride and joy. Still, he would have to be more cautious in future; it would not do to reveal himself too clearly to the child until it was time…

"So, what you're saying is, you were nearly attacked by some creep out in the street, and some…I don't know—guardian angel type guy just happened to swoop in and rescue you?"

"Well…yeah, I guess that is what I'm saying," Christine muttered, blushing.

Christine and Meg Giry were lounging on Meg's bed, a bowl of popcorn between them, and a particularly corny teen soap opera playing on the little television perched precariously on Meg's desk, that thus far was being completely ignored by the two girls.

"Well, you can't say it's easy to believe, Christine. I mean, you probably just had some damn good luck last night, that's all. Granted, it is pretty unlikely that somebody would magically come along and rescue you, but it could happen."

"You're right. Besides, the word "angel' came out of your mouth Meg Giry, not out of mine. I never said I thought there was anything supernatural about it, I just said it was really strange. What kind of person walks around with a lasso, anyway? Bit of an unusual weapon of choice, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it is. Still, I'm so glad you're okay, girl. I don't know what I'd have done if something had happened to you."

Christine reached out and embraced her best friend affectionately. "Oh you'd manage well enough." Christine reassured her confidently.

Suddenly, Meg sat up straight in the bed, turning to face Christine fully.

"Did you by any chance tell Raoul about this?"

Christine glared at her friend. "Oh yes, that would go over well. He wouldn't even think of having a panic attack would he? No, I'm sure he'd have taken the news extremely well; a hug, a glad-you're-okay, and that would have been it."

Meg snorted with laughter at the ridiculousness of such an idea. Meg was aware of Raoul's tendency to become needlessly anxious over every little thing, and she understood why Christine would not have dared to confide in him. "He'd never let you out of his sight again. He'd probably camp outside of your house or sleep in your closet. You'd never get rid of him again."

Christine groaned. "Don't get me wrong, Raoul's a sweetheart, but having him around all the time would be like eating nothing but chocolate cake for the rest of your life. He can be a little…much, sometimes. No, I didn't tell anybody but you. I didn't want to worry Grandma either. It was bad enough that I came home so late in the first place without even calling her to tell her I was with Raoul, I didn't want to shock her over something that came to nothing in the end. Of course, she waved the whole coming-home-late thing off like she always does, but it's not worth worrying Grandma, although she'd probably take it better than Raoul would have."

"Yeah, but look on the bright side. At least he puts up with all the stuff you put him through. Remember when you dragged him to the opera with you last summer?"

Both girls burst into uncontrollable giggles at the memory. When a production of "Carmen" was to be performed at one of the local theatres, Christine had managed to get her hands on two tickets to the production—not front-row seats mind you, but she didn't mind a bit. She had immediately spent a large chunk of her savings on the tickets, meaning to take Meg with her. When Meg had thrown a fit at the very idea of being "subjected to two hours of mindless shrieking by overweight, puffed-up opera singers" Christine had taken the hint and invited Raoul instead.

Raoul, wanting to please her, had consented to attend.

The poor soul had sat for the entire show, staring blankly at the stage and trying vainly to comprehend the intricate story line, while his enraptured companion had sat, transfixed flushed with happiness, and completely wrapped up in the magic of the music. Raoul had become so bored with the whole thing, that he had been irritable and agitated by the end of it.

An oblivious Christine had led him by the hand out of the theatre, chattering non-stop (something very unlike her) praising the opera from beginning to end, and constantly requesting Raoul's opinion on this or that aspect of the production. Eventually, she gave up on his distracted grunts which he considered to be adequate responses to her questions, and she resorted to reliving the experience one more time, commenting on the fantastic complexity of the various arias, and expressing the wish to someday be part of such a spectacular event.

"Well, just don't expect me to come and watch," Raoul had said sourly when she mentioned that particular fantasy. For the first time all evening, Christine noticed how unhappy Raoul looked, and she was brought sharply back to earth.

"Didn't—didn't you like it?"

"I couldn't follow the damn thing, how can I like something I couldn't understand? It was all a giant mess of madness from what I could tell."

This proved an effective dam for Christine's flow of chatter concerning the opera, and she had resolved never to mention it again in Raoul's presence.

"I think he suffered minor trauma from that experience," Meg said laughing.

"Maybe. I sure loved it though," Christine responded dreamily.

"You should have seen it Meg, the costumes were absolutely amazing!"

"Christine," said Meg warningly.

"And the music was just divine! Some of those notes were superhumanly high, I swear!"

"Christine!" came Meg's reproachful voice again. Christine ignored it.

"And the lead tenor—aw God I could've married the guy on the spot."

"Christine Daae, can you hear me?"

"Of course, the leading lady was completely gorgeous…I wish I could look like her, and the stage was set really artistically too—"

Christine's speech was cut off by the shock of feeling a pillow making rather violent contact with her head.

Victorious, Meg shoved a handful of popcorn into Christine's mouth for good measure.

That shut her up.

Once Christine was through with choking and coughing, she glared at Meg.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Meg saw, and lost no time in effectively silencing the girl for good, by shoving her playfully off the edge of the bed.

Landing with a thump, Christine looked up into her blonde friend's threatening gaze, and sighed.

"Don't even think about it Christine. Now, let's talk about a much more stimulating subject like…" Meg furrowed her brow as if she were in deep thought.

"Shopping! I am taking you to the mall tomorrow, and you will not even dare to protest. You will come quietly, let me pick out some much-needed clothes for you, so that you can look fabulous wearing them, and so that I can be seen with you for once."

Pulling Christine back onto the bed, Meg asked sternly, "Are we agreed? After all, you need a little shopping trip to calm your nerves after your little adventure yesterday."

Christine tried to say "yes" but Meg's eyes flashed dangerously, for she was not yet prepared to let Christine speak freely, lest she revisit the subject of the opera.

"Just nod or shake, Chris."

Christine nodded meekly, and Meg smiled, hugging her.

"Now, say that I'm the best friend on the planet, and that you love me."

Christine laughed then. "Okay, no problem. I am the best friend on the planet and you love me."

Annoyed at having been outmaneuvered, Meg began to make a nasty retort, when Mrs. Giry yelled at them to "go to bed for the love of heaven".

Both girls looked guiltily at one another, for it was now very early in the morning instead of being late on a Saturday evening, and if they were shopping the next day, they would definitely require their beauty sleep.


	3. Chapter 3 You Didn't Send It?

a/n: Thank you to all my reviewers, you guys are so generous with your time. I hope you will continue reading!

Jedigal125: I'm glad you like my story. Hopefully you will continue to enjoy it. Thanks for the review.

TrashedXandXscattered: Love the pen name by the way! I'm glad you like my characters; I spend a great deal of time on characterization, perhaps time I should be spending on plot development…I always get very attached to my characters, so I hope you continue to like them. Thanks so much!

Mominator124: I'm glad you enjoyed Meg and Christine's parts together. I find Meg Giry such an intriguing character, and yet she is overlooked far too often. I wanted to give her a little limelight. Thanks for your review, it really made my day!

Please read and review!

Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter Three You Didn't Send It?

On Sunday afternoon, Christine finally escaped the clutches of Meg Giry, who consented to drop her off at her house after no less than four hours of shepherding her around innumerable clothing stores. Admittedly, Christine enjoyed shopping, but in small doses, and she did not enjoy being shoved about by a persistent Meg, who despite her sergeant-like attitude, really did know what would compliment Christine, and always managed to find something original and gorgeous for her.

"Well, this was fun Meg. You'll understand though, if I don't ever want to relive that experience again? You know…ever?"

Meg simply grinned devilishly at her friend, then adopted an innocent face.

"You mean, you didn't enjoy yourself? I thought, judging by your incredible enthusiasm, that you were having a great time."

"You call my yawns and exasperated sighs enthusiastic? Well, that's new. Still, you never notice it when I'm not having a good time, because you're having too much fun."

"No sweetheart, I just choose to ignore the fact, that's all. All this is for your own good you know."

Christine shrugged, then decided to give Meg a break.

"Thanks for taking me out though; you're right, I really needed this. Plus, I really do love the outfits we found, even if the manner in which they were acquired wasn't a picnic in the sun."

Meg looked a little contrite at those words. "I'm sorry for dragging you around like that Chris. I just get a bit over-excited; you know me."

"Yes, I do know you, that's why I fight so hard against these kinds of trips." Said Christine patiently, while digging an elbow into her friend's ribs.

"All right, that's it! Get out of my car if you're going to be like that!" Meg said in a mock stern voice.

Christine made no move to exit the idling vehicle, instead gazing pensively out the window at the snowy driveway of her house.

Taking her sweet time, Christine popped the seat belt buckle loose, and let it retract painstakingly slowly back into its place. Then, she made a show of gliding her hand along the door of Meg's car, pretending to be searching for the handle. Closing her fingers around the handle, Christine carefully began to pull it, easing the door open at a maddeningly slow speed.

"oh very mature Christine," Meg muttered, torn between amusement and irritation.

"Alright, alright, I'm going. See you tomorrow, Meg. I've got to hurry up and make dinner, so I can slog through that essay Mr. Kahn wanted us to do."

"Oh damn!" Meg groaned, apparently having forgotten about the assignment.

Christine said sympathetically, "If you don't get it finished tonight, I'll help you with it tomorrow, don't worry about it."

"Thanks Christine you're the best! Now, go do that essay so I can do mine!" Waving to Meg one last time, Christine closed the door and turned to walk up the driveway towards the house.

She turned once to look with just a tiny feeling of envy rising inside her, at Meg's old, but fully functional red sunfire. It was more than Christine could ever hope to have, even if it was ancient, and beginning to show signs of its age from various rust spots.

Sighing inwardly, Christine grasped the shopping bags she held more tightly in one hand, and proceeded to fish around inside her coat pocket for her key.

With difficulty, she located the key and managed to unlock the door without dropping her bags in the snow.

After depositing her coat on the back of a chair and shedding her winter boots, Christine made straight towards her grandmother's room, intending to spend a little time with her to compensate for spending more than half the weekend with Meg.

"Grandma?"

"Hi Christine. Did you have a good time?"

Stepping into her grandmother's room, Christine set her bags down on the floor and dropped into a chair at the old woman's bedside.

"It was fun, even though Meg went a little overboard. You know how she is when it comes to shopping."

Her grandmother chuckled, a knowing smile on her lips. "Yes, Meg is quite the shopping enthusiast. She's so good for you though, Christine. I so wish I could be the one to take you places…" her voice trailed off in a rare display of regret at her bed-ridden state. Though well into her seventies, Christine's grandmother did her best to keep up with current affairs, and she had quite a modern flavor to her speech, opinions and interests, although she retained just enough of the grandmotherliness that made Christine feel loved and comforted. Christine was very grateful for her grandmother's constant presence in the house, always available when Christine needed a kind word or some helpful advice. Aside from her parents, Christine could think of no better person to care for her, and now that her parents had been taken from her, she felt thankful that she still had this incredible woman to be there for her. Although her world was often cloaked in shadows, Christine never failed to seek out the sunshine in it.

The two chatted happily for a few minutes about nothing in particular, until Christine glanced over at the clock and realized that it was nearly six o'clock, and that dinner needed making.

"Well, I'll go make something for us to eat. Want anything in particular, Grandma?"

"Whatever you like, sweetheart. I'm up for anything."

"Okay…how does spaghetti sound?"

"That sounds excellent!"

"Perfect. I'll be up in a bit."

Hurrying down the stairs to the kitchen, Christine busied herself with boiling the water on the stove, while rummaging around the pantry for noodles and sauce. As she stood waiting for the water to come to a boil, the phone rang.

Sighing, she walked into the living room and seized the cordless phone, which had lain discarded on an end table next to the couch. Praying it was still charged enough to work, Christine answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Chris! How was your weekend with Meg?"

"Oh, hi raoul. It was fun, or as fun as shopping can be. You know what Meg's like."

Raoul laughed on the other end of the line, sounding light-hearted and cheerful. Christine was infinitely glad she had not dampened his spirits by telling him of her "adventure" of Friday evening.

"Yeah, she's a little bit crazy, that one. Say, could I come over there later? Are you doing anything?"

Christine groaned inwardly. She still had that accursed essay to complete, and Raoul's presence would not make things easier for her. Still, she found it very difficult to deny him; besides, she liked having him around, even if he could be clingy at times.

"Well…okay, but I warn you, I have an essay to write for history, and I really need to get it done tonight, so I won't be very entertaining to be around."

"That's okay,," Raoul assured her cheerfully. "I love you just the way you are. You can work, I'll just hang out."

"'Kay, see you later then. What time will you come?"

"Um---what about in an hour or so? I've got a few things to do here before I head over there and—"

"Raoul! I have to go, my water's boiling!"

"Oh okay. Bye Chris!"

Ending the call quickly and racing over to the stove, Christine hastily turned off the heat and removed the lid from the steaming pot of water. Relieved that she had noticed in time, Christine began to add noodles.

A few minutes later, as she carried the pot over to the sink to strain the spaghetti, her gaze flitted idly to the window, and she nearly dropped the pot in surprise, scalding her hand in the process.

Sucking in her breath from the sudden pain, Christine checked the window again. Had she imagined it, or had she really seen a shadow of a figure peering in through the kitchen window?

Shaking her head with confusion, Christine returned to the task at hand, resolving to be less paranoid in future. She could not remain jumpy forever over one close call, after all.

She heard the front door open and shut loudly, and she jumped again, pulled forcibly from her reverie by a familiar voice.

"Hello, Christine. Oh…I'm sorry, did I startle you?"

Relieved once more, Christine turned to greet Stephanie Lawrence, the care worker who came in regularly to check up on Grandma, and see to her needs when Christine could not. She had been visiting the house periodically for several months, and was very friendly with both Christine and Adele.

"Oh, hey steph. Just making dinner. Grandma's upstairs in her room if you'd like to go on up."

Christine blushed at her own silliness; of course her grandmother was in her room, it was not as though she could very well make it on her own anywhere else could she?

Stephanie did not seem to notice, and nodded.

"Okay. See you in a bit."

"mhmm," Christine responded, as she turned her attention once again to the spaghetti in front of her.

Once everything was ready, Christine prepared a tray containing some spaghetti, a piece of garlic toast, and a cup of tea, and carried it up to her grandmother.

"Thanks, Christine. It looks wonderful!"

Smiling, Christine turned to Stephanie, who appeared to have finished with Grandma, and asked, "Would you like to have something to eat, Stephanie?"

The woman shook her head, straightening up from the chair she had been occupying next to the bed.

"Thanks, but I'm going to head out. I'll be in tomorrow as usual."

Christine said good-bye, and the woman left the room. Moments later, Christine heard her car pull out of the driveway.

"If you need anything, just yell," said Christine to her grandmother, before heading downstairs again.

She was in the middle of her own plate when Raoul arrived.

Rising, Christine went to open the door for him, and he bounded inside, excited as always to see her. He was so full of life, Christine thought, embracing him. So perpetually cheerful and sweet-tempered.

"Missed you," he said sweetly, kissing her fondly before releasing her.

"It's only been a couple days," Christine teased.

"And?"

They both laughed, and then Christine waved him towards the table.

"Have you eaten, Raoul? There's lots here if you want."

"Sweet! Thanks millions, Chris."

Helping himself to a generous helping of spaghetti, Raoul sat down opposite Christine at the table, and they both ate in silence for a while.

Then, a smile suddenly appeared on Raoul's face, and he reached out and lifted Christine's chin so she would look at him.

"You'll never guess what my father's just done."

"What?" Christine was curious, now.

"Well, you know how people with—well, with money are expected to give their patronage to somebody?"

"Yes?"

"Well, Dad's decided to be patron of that theatre you dragged me to. The one that sometimes shows operas?"

"Oh no way!"

"Yes, way. Unfortunately," Raoul replied, half annoyed, half amused at Christine's obvious excitement.

I'm glad your dad's going to help them out. A place like that must be so expensive to run, considering make-up and costumes and—"

Yeah, so anyway, it's really awesome and everything, and we get free tickets whenever we want, which isn't much of a perk if you ask me."

Smiling at Raoul, Christine said, "I beg to differ. That's amazing! But, to make you feel better, I'll stop talking about it, I swear. Besides, you're the one who foolishly brought it up."

"yes well, I thought it would make you happy anyway. So, if you ever get the sudden urge to go to a play or something, call me."

"Thanks, Raoul. That would be fantastic!"

Slipping from her seat, she dropped a quick kiss on Raoul's cheek before bringing her plate to the sink and rinsing it.

Raoul followed and did the same, then he playfully gripped Christine around the waist from behind, attempting to sweep her off her feet.

He managed it—sort of, but he was not the most muscular boy in the world, for all his good looks, he could not be called overly strong. At any rate, he reached his goal of causing her feet to lose contact with the ground momentarily, before setting her quickly down again with as much grace as he could.

Laughing just a little, Christine went into the living room to finish her essay, while Raoul stretched himself out on the floor, watching the evening news on the television.

The envelope had appeared innocent enough; small, white, and marked "private" which explained why the secretary of the Mackenzie Theatre had not opened and classified it upon its arrival.

Upon opening it, the managers of the theatre, whom wee very new at their hob and just getting a feel for the place, had noticed that the note was written in a rather clumsy hand, in bright red ink that stood out sharply against the white stationery. It read:

My dear managers,

Firstly, I must congratulate you upon your new position as managers of the Mackenzie Theatre. It is an establishment worthy of great honour, though at times the casting is absurd, and the orchestra is painful to the well-trained ear.

The main purpose of this note, is to recommend to you gentlemen, a new talent, who, at present, remained undiscovered, and has not been given the recognition she rightly deserves. She would be a welcome addition to the concert scheduled in the coming month which, as I believe, is meant to be a fund-raiser for the theatre. The young woman of whom I speak, is miss Christine daae. It would be in your best interest to invite her to perform at the concert. You need not worry about song selection, rest assured that she will pick a suitable piece. Miss Daae has exceptional taste in music.

I trust that enclosed in this letter, is a sufficient incentive for you to carry out this request of mine. I wish you gentlemen luck in your new position, and know that I will be overseeing the goings on, and will be glad to offer advice wherever I deem it necessary.

For how however, I merely wish you both well.

There was no signature of any kind. The managers looked at each other in complete bewilderment.

After a moment, Mr. Richard, the more amiable and sensible of the two, picked up the envelope and extracted a neat wad of hundred-dollar bills.

"Good God! There's probably a thousand dollars here. Just for inviting this—Daae girl to our concert?"

"Who the hell is this guy anyway?" demanded the fierier of the two managers, Mr. Andre.

"Whoever he is, he's gone to great lengths to make sure we didn't know who it was. He seems to think he's got quite a bit of authority, doesn't he?"

"Yes…do you suppose it could be Mr. Chagny?"

"Our new patron? I suppose it could be, but why would he go to so much trouble to remain anonymous?"

"Beyond me."

The two men sighed wearily, almost in unison, then Mr. Andre reached for the telephone on his desk.

"It's worth a try, anyway. I'll call him and see."

Mr. Andre dialed, then waited before speaking.

"Yes, Mr. Chagny, please?...Thank you…Hello Mr. Chagny! Lovely to talk with you, I trust your evening is going well…Good. Well, not to take up any more of your time, but we received a letter today; an anonymous letter which was asking us to invite a certain miss Daae to perform at our fund-raiser next month. We were just wondering if you knew anything about it…Christine, that was indeed her name, do you know of her?...Oh, I see. So you know her but…no it was not in a hand we recognized, you mean, you didn't send it?...oh. Well then…there was money as well, an incentive apparently…about a thousand dollars!...yes I realize how odd this sounds sir, but…yes I understand of course you are busy…no, I am not superstitious, I just…of course, I will leave the matter be…does the Daae girl sing?...hmm, well, I suppose we should invite her, no harm in it…yes, thank you for your time I'm terribly sorry to bother you…good evening to you as well, Mr. Chagny."

Mr. Andre replaced the phone in its cradle, looking utterly confused.

"so, so he didn't send it then?"

"He said he had nothing to do with it, but he did say the girl used to sing. So, I suppose there's no harm in giving her a try. She's supposedly dating Mr. Chagny's son…Ralph or something like that…anyway, I figure we should be nice to this girl, if only because she's linked, however distantly, to Mr. Chagny. We need his support if we want to keep this place afloat."

"Alright then. This will be very interesting," Mr. Richard said ruefully.

"It will indeed," Mr. Andre replied, sighing tiredly.

A/N 2: Okay, so this chapter is mostly filler. I promise that you will see what you've no doubt been anticipating, some e/c interaction. I'm sorry, but I just couldn't make it happen in this chapter, but please bear with me, and I promise you'll come across it before too long. In the meantime, I hope this is to your liking. Anyway, this author's note is getting way too long, and I should really just stop writing now. Thanks for reading!

Okay, author shutting up now!

Meagan


	4. Chapter 4 Begin By Breathing

A/n: This chapter did not come easily; I've been suffering from a case of writer's block…unforgivable at such a critical point in the story, but hopefully

you guys will enjoy it. It's nice and long to make up for my prolonged absence.

To TrashedXandXScattered my wonderful beta: your patience and amazing dedication mean the world to me!

Please review and tell me what you think!

Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter Four Begin By Breathing

A harsh and highly irritating beeping sound pulled Christine from the warm embrace of sleep on Monday morning, and as her angry fist connected with the

snooze button, she stifled a groan of protest.

For a moment, she struggled to open her weary eyes, but quickly gave up the struggle and turned away from the alarm clock, snuggling deeper into her blankets

in a defiant sort of way. She knew that she would regret giving in to her exhaustion, but she refused to crawl out of her warm bed until it was absolutely

necessary. Christine was the farthest thing from a morning person; her father had been fond of saying there was no living with her before noon. Of course,

Christine's parents had both been morning people. Her mother would rise early to have a cup of coffee with her husband, and they would both come into Christine's

room singing and coaxing her to wake up and face another day.

Christine's thoughts drifted as she remembered the sound of her parents' voices joined together in song, and these pleasant memories filled her head until

the alarm began to beep insistently once more.

This time, Christine found the will power to rise, and she reluctantly headed for the kitchen, attempting not to fall down the stairs in her exhaustion.

She supposed the reason she was so tired this morning was the lack of sleep she had managed to get the night before.

"Raoul!" she grumbled under her breath as she idly poured herself a bowl of cereal. Indeed, it was Raoul's fault, she reasoned. He was the one who had

stayed far too late the previous evening, and he had distracted her so much that she had been forced to wait until after he had finally departed at eleven,

so that she could tackle her essay for Mr. Kahn.

"He'd better like it," she grumbled again, which was very uncharacteristic of her. Though she could hardly be called cheerful on Monday mornings, she was

not usually so prone to growling bitterly and blaming others for her own procrastination. It was simply easier to blame her poor boyfriend at the moment than face up to her own foolishness.

Rubbing her tired eyes, she ate the cereal without tasting it, lost in thought. She concentrated on positive thoughts; Christine Daae was never one to

remain bitter and irritated over something so trivial as a few hours of lost sleep. Though she was dry and sarcastic at times, she was usually a very gentle

and sweet-tempered person.

Christine rose, walking to the sink and rinsing out her bowl and spoon. Stifling a yawn, she headed for the bathroom to splash some cold water on her

face and try to awaken fully.

An hour later, dressed, unruly curls tamed, and considerably more alert, Christine slipped into her grandmother's room to say good-bye before she left

for school. As always, her grandmother was awake and waiting for her.

"Morning, Grandma," said Christine, forcing brightness into her tone. However, Christine's grandmother was no fool.

"Tired today, Christine?"

"Well, yes, I guess I am. Mondays, you know…" Christine replied absently. Her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Her eyes took in her grandmother's tired

face; so lined with time and care. She seemed older now than she had ever appeared, and it still sent a pang through Christine's heart to see her once-vibrant

grandmother confined to her bed. Shaking herself mentally to dispel the melancholy feelings that descended upon her, she smiled as convincingly as possible

so that her grandmother would not ask what she was thinking of.

"Did you manage to finish your essay? I know it was worrying you."

"Yes, actually! I'm glad it's over with; the thing was a lot more difficult than usual."

"Oh? What was it about?"

Christine grimaced with distaste. "Oh, some completely useless stuff about our thoughts on the success of planned economies versus democracy throughout

history and in modern times—I don't want to think about it."

"You know, if you really studied the material…not just memorizing the dates, names and places, but actually thought about the whys and hows, you might

find that it's not all as useless as you think."

Christine blushed a little, knowing her grandmother was right, but cursed her silently for her words of wisdom. Christine was normally quite meek and easily

convinced that someone else was right, but she felt slightly foolish right then, and she was tempted to argue the point. Sighing instead, she nodded.

"You're probably right, as usual. Well, I'd better go. Have a good day, Grandma. Oh, and just so you know, I'll probably come home a couple of hours

late tonight. There's a project for school Meg and I were planning to work on today."

"Meg will drive you home after you have finished, I assume?"

"Yes," Christine replied, shouldering her backpack and turning to leave. Bending, Christine kissed her grandmother's cheek in farewell and hurried out

of the room.

As she rushed down the stairs, she sang to herself—not properly or with any true effort, merely brushing the melody of 'Wouldn't It Be Lovely' with her

voice, only wishing to express her renewed cheerfulness. Christine Daae, though in possession of a dark sadness that was her constant companion, was often

happy, in a shallow sort of way. True, her eyes always carried a deep sorrow that suggested she had seen and experienced far too much in her short life,

but this frail and delicate-looking creature was stronger than one might think, and her smile was quick in coming, long in staying, and difficult to keep

away for long. In her trials, Christine found strength in those she had left, and thanked God fervently for each bright spot in her darkness. Therefore,

although the memory of the death of her father had made it painful for Christine to truly sing, it did not totally eclipse her love of music; music was

a part of Christine, and she could no more part with it completely than she could have parted with the oxygen that kept the blood flowing in her veins.

So, she often hummed or sang to herself as she went about the house, or in moments of idleness, when she longed to break the oppressive silence.

The first thing that Christine registered upon entering the school that morning was Meg's delighted squeal as the little blonde girl came running towards

her, looking strangely ecstatic about something.

"I've missed you too, Meg. Honestly though, you've been with me all weekend!" said Christine, slightly exasperated.

"No, silly! You're wearing one of the outfits I helped you pick out yesterday! That, Christine, has made my day. You can't ever tell me I'm not a fabulous

friend to you, Chris."

"No, I guess I couldn't," Christine admitted, laughing.

"So…how did your essay go?"

"Well, it took me forever, as I was rather hampered by the presence of a certain boy intent upon making life difficult for me," said Christine, putting

on a dramatic scowl and heaving a deep sigh.

"Glad you appreciate me, sweetheart," came Raoul's voice from behind the two girls.

Blushing, Christine turned to address Raoul.

"I'm—I'm sorry, Raoul. I only meant that…that I didn't get much work done. I swear I wanted you there—"

Raoul waved a hand dismissively, as though to make light of the whole matter. "It's okay, Chris. I know you didn't actually mean it, but the look on your

face…" he laughed then.

Meg joined in. "I must agree with Raoul, Chris. Your face did turn an interesting colour," Meg commented, most helpfully.

Luckily, the bell chose that moment to ring, effectively ending the conversation, and Christine's moment of shame, as the three were swept up in the whirlwind

of students heading to their first class.

Waving to Meg and Raoul, Christine made her way towards English, the only class she took that Meg did not. Meg was scheduled to take the course in the

next semester, but otherwise, the two girls shared the same classes throughout the day.

Happily immersing herself in 'Canterbury Tales' which was their current subject of study, Christine lost herself in the flowing poetry and clever satire

of Geoffrey Chaucer, while everyone else hurried to get settled. Gradually, she felt all her former spirit returning, and the extra darkness that seemed

to have settled about her since Friday night seemed to lift fully at last. Smiling, she turned her full attention to the book before her.

At lunch that day, Meg pestered Christine incessantly until the poor girl consented to help Meg with her own history essay. After half an hour of hard

work on both their parts, the much-despised assignment was at long last completed, and the two sighed with collective relief.

"You are the most amazingly beautiful person I have ever known, and I offer you my eternal devotion," Meg said rapturously, leaning on Christine's shoulder.

"As you should," Christine said, smiling and embracing her friend.

"May I join in on this hugging session?"

Raoul's smiling face appeared. He wrapped Christine in his arms, kissing her curls fondly.

Returning the embrace, Christine laid her head on his chest for a moment, but he was having none of that, and he insisted on kissing her instead.

"Well, isn't that cute," said Meg only slightly sarcastically, eyeing the couple before her. "But don't you think you should tone it down a little, before

some teacher sees you?"

Looking sheepish, the two broke apart, and, blushing, Christine went to stand beside Meg once more.

"Well, I'll leave you ladies…I've got a couple of things to deal with before class. See you later, Chris."

This left the two alone, and Christine took the opportunity to ask if Meg was still up for tackling their project after school. Both girls had art class

for third block, and so they were working on a major assignment as partners.

"Of course. It's going to be a huge job though; I have a feeling we'll have to work on it tomorrow, too."

Christine nodded in agreement. "We'll see how much we get done tonight, and then we'll come back if we need more time. No biggy."

"God… this stupid project is more trouble than it's worth," Meg groaned, crumpling yet another piece of construction paper and lobbing it over Christine's

head in the general direction of the trash can. Their project, a massive expanse of constellations and planets set against a background of black, was titled

'Midnight Contrast' and had proved to be ambitious in the extreme, especially since neither girl was much of an art lover.

"I know," Christine agreed, fighting frustration.

"Ah… wouldn't it be great to just—just take the stupid thing and rip it into several very small pieces, throw them into a raging fire, and drop this wretched

class?"

Christine sighed dreamily in response. "Yeah, that would be awesome. Still, we both need the credits, and it does look really good, even if it's taking

far too much time and energy. Shall we give it another go tomorrow?"

"Mhmm," was Meg's sad attempt at a reply. She had pillowed her head on her arms, and was looking as though she fancied a nap on the table where her head

rested.

"Come on, Meg," Christine coaxed, pulling first one, then the other of Meg's arms out from beneath her head and grasping her hand firmly.

"No—having such a good dream. No art—mmm go away, Chris."

"Oh quit that, will you?"

Meg gave up and laughed. "Okay, okay, I'm coming. I'll go put this away, then."

"No way," Christine interjected, picking up their project instead.

"I don't trust you… you'd probably wait till you're out of my sight, then shred the thing."

Meg adopted an innocent face, widening her large hazel eyes. "Why, Christine, how could you? Don't you trust me at all?"

"No, I don't."

"You probably don't even love me anymore. You just keep me around for—for—"

"For the stimulating conversation and intelligent insight?" Christine supplied a little dryly.

"Yes, that!"

"Well, let me go put this away, and I'll start being nice to you again, 'kay?"

"Alright then, I guess that's fair enough."

"Good, thanks."

As Christine headed down her driveway towards the house, she stopped to retrieve the mail. Glancing through it as she walked through the door, she sighed.

Bills—a post card from a friend of Grandma's who was vacationing in Europe, some obnoxiously cheerful fliers from some of the local stores, and a letter,

which seemed quite out of place among the myriad of every-day post. Christine registered the fact that it was addressed to her, and she was shocked.

Sitting at the kitchen table, she opened the envelope carefully, exposing two or three sheets of thick, expensive-looking stationery. She was further baffled

by the fact that the letter appeared to be from the Mackenzie Theatre—the very place to which Raoul's father had given his patronage; the place where she

had seen her first and only opera. 'What could they want with me?' she wondered. The letter read:

Dear Miss Daae:

As you may have heard, the Mackenzie Theatre will be holding a concert on December 4th, in order to raise funds, and promote the theatre in hopes of attracting

a wider audience. Several very talented individuals and groups have been invited to perform at said concert, and I, together with my fellow manager Mr.

Andre, would be greatly honoured if you would graciously consent to be part of this concert.

If you are interested, please reply to this invitation by return address, and let us know either way whether you will be able to come, or if you will be

unable to perform.

The song is of your choice, and the theatre will provide you with an accompanist, if you have sheet music. You may also perform with an accompaniment track,

should you wish to do so. Of course, if you should like to accompany yourself, that would be welcome also. If you wish to perform, your presence will be

required at a rehearsal of sorts, on Wednesday, December 2nd, at seven PM. At this rehearsal, you will be required to run through your selection, so that

you can get a feel for the stage, and so that your accompanist, if you require one, will be able to become familiar with your music.

We thank you for your time, and hope you will consent to be part of our concert. Please reply as soon as possible either by mail, or if you choose, you

may use the phone number listed below during business hours, which are generally from 9 AM to 6 PM, although one or both of us may be reached later than

that time quite often. Ask for either Mr. Richard or Mr. Andre.

Sincerely,

Armand Richard

Co-manager of the Mackenzie Theatre

The other sheet of paper was simply further information about the concert—who would be performing, where and when it would take place, the phone number

to call for questions, and other such details. Christine barely glanced at it, for she was so shocked that she simply let the letter fall to the floor

as her grip on it relaxed.

Head spinning, Christine tried vainly to make sense of the whirlwind of thoughts racing about inside her mind. How had they known of her existence? Stranger

still, how had they known she could sing? It wasn't as if she had done much with her voice, even when she had been able to use it. She had never taken

formal lessons, finding her father's instruction sufficient, and so she had never been invited to perform at any recitals or any such things. There were

few people who knew of her voice; her friends, of course, and her family, but other than that, nobody could have known of her talent, unless they had

followed her around, observing her behind the closed doors of her home. She laughed at the very thought. She really needed to tame her over-active imagination,

she chided herself for even thinking such a thing. It had been two full years since she had sung properly, and so the likelihood of anyone knowing of her

gift was slim. Besides, she told herself, there was no way she could say yes to this opportunity. She did not sing anymore, not for anyone. Each time she

tried to sing—really sing, thoughts of her father invaded her mind and made her freeze up. Shuddering at the thought of turning to an emotional wreck on

stage, Christine resolutely bent over and picked up the letter, meaning to push it from her mind and politely decline the offer. It was in this state that

Raoul found her, as he waltzed casually into her house, deeming it unnecessary to knock.

"Hey, Chris! How are things—God, you look pale. Is everything okay?"

Forgetting her ordeal for a moment, Christine's sarcastic side fought its way to the surface.

"You know, Raoul, there's this silly new trend they've come out with. It's called knocking—ridiculous, isn't it? But when people want to enter somebody's

door without prior permission, they knock on the door to let the person know they're there."

Raoul laughed, and Christine softened and laughed as well.

"You're lucky you're cute, Christine, because otherwise I'd probably ditch you… making fun of me like you do."

"I always knew these looks would come in handy," Christine said, mockingly flicking a golden lock behind her ear and batting her lashes.

"So, want to tell me what's up?" Raoul inquired once more.

"Oh, this is crazy, I--"and then it hit her, solid and sudden as if she had run headlong into a stone wall. Raoul! After all, he knew perfectly well

that she could sing, and his father probably had a great deal of pull with the managers now that he was helping them out… but no! Raoul wouldn't have signed

her up for this, would he? He was aware of the fact that she no longer wished to sing, surely he wouldn't do something like that, only because he could.

"You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?" Christine demanded, face hardening.

"Um… what are you talking about?"

Christine flushed with embarrassment. She had not even explained herself properly.

"Well, look at this. I just got this from the Mackenzie."

Handing Raoul the letter, she settled back to watch his face as he read it. As his eyes scanned the page, his expression turned from curiosity, to confusion,

to shock, then to blinding happiness.

"Chris! This—this is amazing! Wow! Congrats, sweetie! This is so huge! Are you… are you going to do it?"

"So, you didn't tell them to do this, did you?"

"Me? No of course not. I wouldn't do that without asking you first. Besides, I don't think Dad would approve of that. That's so great though. What song

will you sing?"

"Raoul… I don't think I can. I can't sing anymore, you know that. Ever since Dad died—it's like my voice died with him."

"Aw, Chris, I'm so sorry," he crossed to her and embraced her tightly, as she leaned her head on his shoulder. "I understand that it's hard for you, but

it's been two years, Chris. Don't you think that your Dad would want you to move on? You don't think he'd want you to just stop singing, do you? He taught

you how to sing, so he would probably want you to keep using what he showed you. This is such an amazing opportunity Christine, you can't just let it slide."

"Oh Raoul… you don't understand. Of course you don't, how could I expect you to? This is something that's going to hurt, and hurt a lot for a very long

time, and I can happily hum along to something on the radio, but to actually sing Raoul, I couldn't handle it."

"What if you just tried," Raoul reasoned, pulling back and moving to sit next to her in a nearby chair. "You have like…" he thought for a moment, "a little

over a month to prepare. What if you just work at it; maybe it would get easier every time you practiced."

Christine still felt that she couldn't possibly be what she had once been, and music did not hold the appeal it once had for her.

"Okay, that's it. I'm calling Meg, we'll order pizza, and we'll talk. One of us should be able to convince you."

"Good luck," said Christine, crossing her arms, but she did not object to Raoul's suggestion. "Just as long as you both leave at a decent hour tonight.

I'll go see Grandma for a bit, you call Meg." Raoul nodded and pulled his cell from his jacket pocket.

Sighing, Christine climbed the stairs to her grandmother's room.

"Hey, Grandma! How was your day?"

"Well—it was all right. I read a lot, actually, and Steph came by with some delicious muffins she'd made. She says she put them in the pantry, top shelf

on the right. Is Raoul here?"

"Yes—Meg will probably be coming over too. We're ordering some pizza, is that all right?"

"Of course, dear. You don't have to ask, you know. This house is yours as much as it is mine, and you're at liberty to do as you please… within reason,

obviously."

"Aw, thanks. So, do you want pizza too, or do you feel more like having some real food? I could whip something up if you want."

"No no, there's some leftover Caesar salad in the fridge I could… Christine, what's troubling you?"

Startled by her grandmother's sudden change of subject, Christine was rendered quite speechless for a moment.

"Nothing… that is… I'll talk to you about it later, okay?"

"Alright, if that's what you want. I suppose you can't keep Raoul waiting down there, I'll let you go back to your friends. Go and enjoy yourself, Christine.

I've got a Jane Austen novel I'd like to dig into tonight."

Smiling fondly at her grandmother, Christine rose from her seat at the side of the bed.

"Thanks, Grandma. I'll come see you after they leave. I'll bring you that salad in a sec."

"Thank you, dear. You're such a sweetheart." Christine shrugged in a self-deprecating gesture and headed downstairs.

As she walked into the kitchen, Meg's little Sunfire pulled into the drive, and the little blonde jumped out, sweeping up the drive with characteristic

purpose and confidence. Christine opened the door for her, and Meg wasted no time.

In typical Meg fashion, she walked in, tossed her coat over the back of a chair, and walked straight up to Christine.

"Now, you listen here, missy. You are going to eat pizza, enjoy it immensely, give me all the details about what's going on here since Raoul sucks

at explaining, talk this out with the two of us, and, most likely, agree with whatever we come up with… and you will not be difficult about it, you

will not withdraw into yourself, and you'll be reasonable, okay Hun?"

Most people would have found this speech threatening, controlling, and possibly would have thought Meg Giry to be a domineering and unpleasant person.

Christine knew better, however, and she was accustomed to Meg's little lectures. More than ever, Meg reminded Christine forcefully of Mrs. Giry, who

was a formidable woman with a strong personality that shielded a very tender heart. Meg even rested her hands on her hips like a scolding mother—like mother

like daughter, Christine thought. This brought a fond smile to her lips, and she impulsively reached out and embraced the girl.

Meg, a little disappointed that her sternness had been met with such careless affection on Christine's part, returned the embrace reluctantly, hiding a

smile of her own.

"If you two are done--" Raoul cut in, not bothering to finish the thought.

"Well Meg, are we?" asked Christine, looking inquisitively at her friend.

"Mhmm," Meg grunted.

"Excellent. Now, what'll you guys have?" The remainder of the evening was spent with pizza, idle chatter, and much laughter, until Meg could stand it no

longer and demanded to know what had prompted this meeting in the first place. So, Christine had obligingly described to her best friend the entire situation,

as well as her feelings concerning it, and she vehemently expressed her unwillingness to sing, hoping to discourage any prodding from her two companions.

"But, I don't understand, Christine. You love singing, and you used to love to perform. You don't mean that you think this isn't an amazing opportunity,

do you?"

"No, no… it's not that at all, Meg. This is an amazing opportunity, and I'm not denying that I'd be thrilled—but I can't sing anymore. There's not

enough time. I have a little over a month to make up for two years of lost training, and I can't do it alone. It's not like I can waltz into that concert

hall and say 'Hey! I'm Christine Daae, and I'm here with my music, but I won't be able to sing it, since I haven't practiced for years, and have never

had any formal training at any point.' Can I? It's—it's too hard at this point, guys. Will you please acknowledge how difficult this is for me?"

Though they tried, Raoul and Meg could not, in good conscience, blame Christine for feeling the way she did, and in the end, they both admitted defeat.

After the two had left, with a comforting word from Meg and a kiss from Raoul, Christine made her way upstairs to her room, but as she passed her grandmother's

bedroom, she remembered her promise to speak with her grandmother about the problem, although it was likely she had been able to hear the whole thing from

upstairs, as sound drifted quite easily from the lower level of the house to the upper.

Her grandmother was propped up in bed, with a book in her lap, but she did not appear to be reading it. Instead, she appeared to be gazing into space.

Christine edged over to the bed and touched the woman's shoulder gently to bring her out of her reverie.

"Grandma?"

"Oh, Christine. Would you like to talk about it?"

Christine did not need to ask what 'it' was. "I think I would," she replied softly, occupying the chair by the bed as she had countless times before.

"Well, go ahead, tell me everything. Yes, I heard some of it, but just tell me the reader's digest version, and of course, how you feel about it all. I

guarantee you'll feel better once you've poured it all out."

"Okay, well, as you've probably figured out, the Mackenzie Theatre sent me a letter—they're having some sort of fund-raising concert, and they somehow

know about my singing voice and want me to perform for it."

"And you don't want to?"

"No, I don't. Grandma—I… I can't sing anymore. I really want this, Grandma! I want this so… so much! I love performing… hell, I'd do anything for this!

But what—what if I freeze up? What if I can't sing anymore? What if I'm so out of practice that I get up there and choke? What if they don't think I'm

good enough after all and send me away? What if--"

By this time, Christine had dissolved into tears which were nearing the point of hysteria, and her grandmother quickly intervened.

"First of all Christine, nine times out of ten what-ifs don't happen. Second, you have a very beautiful singing voice, and we both know that with a few

weeks of hard work you'll have it polished up and sounding as wonderful as it ever did. Third, you need to let go, dear. I know that when you sing, it

reminds you of your father, and I know what it is to grieve, Christine. Don't forget—he was my son, and I loved him with everything I had—I still love

him, and the loss still pains me every day. But I know that he's up there somewhere, looking down on us; call it silly, but I just know he's happy now,

even happier then before, now that he's reunited with Sarah. Though it was hard… though it felt like wrenching a piece of myself that was still firmly

attached out of me and casting it aside, I let Charles go. I will always grieve for him, but I refuse to let his loss make my life harder. Instead of having

his absence hang over me and keep me from living my life—what little life I have left, I choose to let his very presence strengthen me, and I know he would

want you to be happy, Christine. He didn't give you music so that you would relinquish it as soon as trouble came your way. No—whatever you choose to believe,

I think he would want you to perform at this concert, and at every single one you possibly can, because he was so proud of you, Christine, and he would

want you to live, instead of holding back to grieve for what you can't get back."

Christine's mouth was hanging open, but she did not notice, so shocked was she by her grandmother's long speech. Christine's grandmother was not prone

to making such long and passionate speeches, and her words were slowly sinking in the way Meg and Raoul's had been unable to. Slowly, the realization of

how foolish she had been began to settle over Christine, and she felt remarkably childish at that moment. True, her inhibitions did not vanish magically,

dispelled by her grandmother's words, but a burden seemed to lift itself from Christine's shoulders, and she finally allowed herself to hope… perhaps she

could regain the music she had let slip away from her. Perhaps she could sing again.

"I'm going to need to think about all this, but thank you so much, Grandma. I feel kind of stupid now."

"Don't. It took me a long time to realize the same thing—perhaps my circumstances are different from your own, but I too was holding back, so I understand

why you feel the way you do. Just, don't rule this opportunity out, okay?"

"Okay," Christine replied, nodding slowly. "Goodnight Grandma, and thanks again."

"You're welcome, Christine. Sweet dreams, dear."

"You too."

And so, Christine collapsed into bed, mind reeling, and it was not until the luminous hands of her alarm clock showed that she had less than five hours

before she would be forced to rise for school, that sleep finally found her.

Christine rose the next morning, feeling exhausted but strangely resolute. She had made her decision, difficult as it had been, and the only unpleasant

thing about her decision was the idea of hearing the I-told-you-sos from Meg and Raoul. Grimacing at the thought, Christine readied herself for school,

mind occupied with fevered planning. She needed to begin practicing at once; regrettably she had nobody to coach her, so she would have to be extremely

critical of herself if she wanted to improve, and she'd have to accompany herself while rehearsing, which was doable, but unpleasant, as doing both things

at once inevitably divided her attention. Unfortunately, Christine did not own a piano, although she knew that the school had a well-equipped but sadly

neglected music room, which she would likely be able to use at her convenience without too much trouble. Perhaps she could stay after school for a few

hours, and catch a later bus home than usual. That would give her about two hours of practice time, which she decided was more than sufficient. Now, there

remained the ordeal of choosing an adequate song. Christine's thoughts proved so absorbing that she kept making silly errors in her morning preparations.

More than once, she found herself staring listlessly into the mirror, brush poised but not actually touching her curls, and she managed to don socks that

did not match without noticing for some time. Cursing herself for being so out of sorts, Christine called a hurried good-bye to Grandma and ran out the

door to meet the bus.

"Aw, I knew you'd come around," said Raoul triumphantly when Christine informed him and Meg of her decision to go ahead with the concert. Christine glared

at him but was pleasantly surprised when all Meg did was embrace her tightly and congratulate her graciously.

"Wow, I admire you, Meg. You aren't even gloating," Christine teased.

"Well, I figured you deserve a break from my merciless ways, and besides, I'm too happy for you to care if I was right or not."

"You're the best, Meg."

Raoul looked repentant, and asked Christine if she'd forgive his initial response.

"Well--" and here Raoul made use of his puppy-eyes, so sad and pleading.

"I hate it when you do that," she snapped, but hugged him anyway.

It was then, when she was completely unprepared for it, that a song idea leaped into her head.

"Yes! That's it!" she exclaimed joyfully, clapping a hand to her forehead.

Both Meg and Raoul exchanged confused glances, then Meg ventured to ask what Christine was going on about.

"Oh, I've just thought of a song choice. It's been bugging me all day, so I'm glad I came up with something. I just hope to God it'll work out."

"Oooh! Which one?" Meg asked, practically bouncing up and down on the hallway bench.

"Gia Il Sole Dal Gan Ge," said Christine excitedly.

"Um…" was Meg's eloquent response. Raoul looked equally perplexed.

"Some opera-type-thing?" Meg inquired. Raoul shuddered.

"Well—yes, you could say that. It's from the Baroque period, I believe. It's a beautiful piece, even though it's basically made to be sung in an

'I'm-shamelessly-showing-off-my-fabulous-voice' kind of way. Still, it has a gorgeous melody and the words are pretty."

"Yes, about the words… what do they mean?" asked Raoul curiously.

"The title means 'the sun from the orient' and the whole song is just basically a bunch of poetic fluff about the lovely sunrise and all the little dewdrops

that sparkle like diamonds… like I said, fluffy, but beautiful if you sing it right."

"I'll take your word for it," said Meg as the bell rang to signal the end of lunch.

"Come on, Chris, let's go brave art class," said Meg breezily, grabbing Christine's arm and dragging her towards the dreaded classroom.

That evening after classes, Christine and Meg found themselves in the art room once more, diligently working on their art project.

"You know, I think we could finish this tonight, and within the hour if we work well," Meg commented optimistically. Fortunately, her spirit was contagious,

and soon both girls were laughing and chattering brightly over their work, and were soon finished.

Upon completing the project, Meg leaped to her feet, grabbed Christine, and both girls whirled around the room in relief and ecstasy, in a ridiculous

little dance of joy at having finally defeated the horror that was the art project.

"You know, it doesn't look half bad either," Meg pointed out, pride creeping into her voice.

"Meg, is it okay if I ditch you tonight? I kind of want to stay here to use the school's piano. I don't have my sheet music, but I think I remember the

piece well enough to sort of hammer it out, and I'll just take the bus at five thirty to get home."

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait? I'd love to hear you play… and I'd love to hear you sing, too. It's been ages since you've sung."

"I don't think you'll want to hear me tonight, Meg. I haven't sung in a couple years, so I'm bound to sound like an old crow, and my playing will be rusty

for sure, but thanks."

"Well, okay then. See you tomorrow, Chris," she said cheerfully, and Christine headed towards the little music room, while Meg took off in the opposite

direction, towards the parking lot.

When she reached the little room, Christine seated herself before the old and well-worn piano, and softly caressed its ivory keys without pressing them.

Nervously, she positioned her hands on the keys and hesitantly launched into the spirited introduction of 'Gia Il Sole' while bracing herself for how rusty

her voice was bound to sound, and praying she would be able to remember all the words.

Then, for the first time in two years, Christine opened her mouth to sing—sing properly that is, striving for her old skill.

"Gia il sole, gia il sole dal gan ge … gia il sole, gia il sole dal gan ge, piu chiaro, piu chiaro sfa vila, piu chiaro-"

Groaning, Christine ceased her playing and singing, and paused to ponder what she had just sung. Her soprano was definitely rusty, and the notes that had

once been effortless now felt so high and out of reach. Her vowels remained closed and flat, and the long line 'piu kiaro' which seemed to go on forever

was eluding her. Frustrated, she began again, concentrating on hitting the high notes more precisely, although she was having difficulty; her voice lacked

support, the sound that escaped her was thin and weak, and over all, it was bordering on disastrous. Frustration took over, and Christine resisted the

urge to take her anger out on the innocent ivory keys on which her fingers rested. Twisting her hands in her lap so as not to bang the keyboard, Christine

began to take shallow breaths, fighting back sobs of frustration and hopelessness. She should have known it would be so hard! She should not have fooled

herself into believing that her voice would simply float out of her throat, golden and clear as a bell.

" Oh God, there are so many wrong things! Where do I start?" she moaned.

"You could begin by breathing," said a voice from directly behind her.

A/n: What's this?...a cliffie? Mwahahahahahaha! Run along and review!


	5. Chapter 5 the Angel Returns

A/N: Hello all! Here is the next chapter. It's a little shorter than the last one—about half the size I think, so hopefully it pleases. This chapter is specially dedicated to Mominator124, who was so eager for some e/c interaction. Below are my review replies.

Trep092—Thanks for the review! Your comment means more than you know!

Jedical125—Oh yes…I'm a terrible person aren't I? I should be punjabbed. Thank you so much for reading!

Mominator124—Gosh, I love that pen name! lol thanks for the review, I always look forward to yours. I know the e/c goodness took forever to come, but it's finally here in all its glory, and I really hope you enjoy it.

Etoile du Bolshoi—Thanks millions for the review! I'm glad you liked the scene with Christine and her grandmother. Oh, and I pity the fop ahem…I mean Raoul, as well. You know I love ya, especially that OCD part of you. Please stick with me!

AprilMayJune—There you are! Lol I'm glad you're still reading my little story. Thank you so much for the review, and don't worry, I wasn't planning on an angel-of-music plot, so I didn't have to rewrite everything. Don't ever be afraid to express your opinions about the story; suggestions are welcome. I don't plan these chapters most of the time, they just fly out of my brain at random moments.

Thank you to all those who read that didn't leave me a review. You all mean so much to me. Thanks also to my devoted beta, TrashedXandXScattered, for being incredibly quick and thorough at the same time. I owe you so much! Now…on with the chapter!

Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter 5 The Angel Returns

"You could begin by breathing," said a voice from directly behind her.

Startled, Christine jumped up so quickly that the piano bench nearly toppled over backward. Whirling around, she faced the newcomer.

Her first impression was of a tall, thin figure clad solely in black, fixing her with a piercing gaze with eyes that were a startling shade of gold.

The colour could not be described as warm, but it was strikingly beautiful all the same. Her gaze roved over the man's face, and her attention was captured

by the white half-mask. A mask? Why on earth was he wearing a mask? Then, something clicked. She had seen this man before—the eyes, had she not seen them

glowing in the dark on the night she was attacked? That voice…had it not been the chilling angel's voice that had spoken to her? Though she had been unable

to see her rescuer that night on account of the shadows, she would know that voice anywhere. It was him.

"I…it's…you."

"You must forgive me, my dear. It was not my intention to startle you. I merely sought to offer my assistance. It would appear that you need a little help

with your music?"

Mind reeling, Christine struggled to recover herself. She had almost missed what he had said, because she was too occupied with the beauty of his voice.

It seemed to wrap around her like an embrace; warm, but infinitely powerful. She both feared and adored the sound of it, and she had the strangest feeling

that this man could say absolutely anything and make it beautiful.

"My—my music? Oh, you heard me just now?" Christine turned crimson at the thought of anyone having heard her wretched attempts at song. Indeed, she was

so mortified by the idea that she did not even question this strange man's presence in the school.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. You have potential, to be sure, and with a little instruction I believe you could be astonishing. However, you cannot

hope to improve if you insist upon panicking each time you miss a note. Relaxation and focus are key."

"You—you think I have something? Do you know much about music?"

"A little," was his casual response. Christine, curious now, turned to face him.

"I used to be a little better than this, really. I'm sure that with some practice I'll be okay."

To her shock, the mysterious man stepped up to face her and proceeded to physically adjust her posture. First, he laid a hand against her rib cage. "Breathe

from here, not from your upper chest. You are singing, remember, which requires deep breath, not shallow breaths like the ones you've been taking." Next,

he touched two fingers to her collarbone, and she suppressed a gasp at his icy touch, despite the fact that his hands were encased in black leather gloves.

"Raise this part of you, as high as you can. No—don't allow your shoulders to tense; keep them relaxed…there. Now, no matter how long a phrase is, no matter

how much you desperately need oxygen and want to allow your chest to collapse, do not allow your collarbone to move. Let your stomach flatten, but do not

ever let this part of you drop."

Christine was still dazed, otherwise she might have resented this man's cool criticism of her stance-,- and his physical manipulation of her. Then, he

moved behind her, and placed his hand on her hip, fingers touching her ribs, thumb on her back. "Breathe," he whispered so softly it was nearly inaudible.

Trembling slightly, Christine inhaled, and concentrated on the expanding movement of her stomach, while her chest moved upwards to make room for the

air. "I should be able to feel your back move into my hand; it should not move inward, but expand outward, just as your rib cage does. There…now breathe."

In this way, they practiced breathing correctly, he demanding perfection, and she trying desperately to give it to him. For some unfathomable reason, she

strove to please him, when she should have been telling him to back off since this had nothing to do with him. Still, he appeared to know what he was talking

about, so far at least, and so she complied.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the strange man moved to the piano and proceeded to help Christine warm up her voice. Here again, he constantly

halted her in her scales to correct pitch, tone, posture. She fought against the feeling that she'd never meet this man's high standards. She had gained

a whole new level of respect for this strange person when he touched his fingers to the piano keys. Though all she had heard him play thus far were simple

scales, he played them with such an elegant grace and precision that she could not help feeling awe. Being a piano player herself, if only a mediocre one,

she appreciated how difficult it could be to put passion into a piece of music. However, he even managed to play mundane, ordinary scales in such a way

that they sounded new and different, like they might have lyrics that accompanied them; like they all had feelings of their own. This scale was expressing

anger, this one joy, that one envy and the other triumph…it was astounding. At first, she was so drawn in by his playing that she forgot to sing, which

he impatiently reminded her to do.

"Warm-ups work best when the singer opens her mouth," he said dryly when Christine merely stood there, eyes unfocused.

Blushing furiously for what felt like the thousandth time, Christine opened her mouth to sing. Up and down the scales, climbing higher and higher until

she sensed her voice slipping out of its comfort zone, and approaching dangerous heights. As she felt the notes become weaker, her body tensed and her

jaw locked. At once, the music stopped, and her accompanist halted.

"You are too tense, my dear. You must never allow tension to affect you."

"But, I just know I can't hit those high notes, I guess I anticipate them and I tense up because I know the sound will be horrible."

"Self-fulfilled prophecy. If you anticipate those high notes, dread them, and expect them to sound as they shouldn't, they will. If you continue to sing

the way you would if you were singing with your chest voice, and kept your body relaxed, the notes will sound as pure as the lower ones do. By the way,

you're chewing."

"I'm sorry…chewing?"

"Yes; your jaw is moving from side to side on the consonants, instead of staying still like it does when you sing vowels. Don't be afraid to allow the

sound to be rich and dark. The moment you brighten your tone and tighten your jaw, the notes fall flat and lifeless."

Struggling to absorb all this information simultaneously, (for she could not get away with any mistakes as he always knew) Christine made to sing the scales

again. However, the sound died in her throat when she realized her companion was not playing along on the piano.

"I believe you are ready for a run-through of your song."

Relieved, for she had been at this for half an hour, Christine moved to replace him at the piano so she could accompany herself. Then she realized something.

"How will I be able to maintain this stance while sitting?"

For a moment, he looked puzzled, as though he were trying to discern what she meant. The confusion on the visible portion of his face looked decidedly

out of place on a man who was normally so sure of himself, almost arrogant. Then, comprehension dawned, and…was that a glint of humour in those expressive

eyes? She had thought, in the short time she'd known him, that he did not possess a sense of humour. He seemed so cold and distant.

"I shall accompany you."

"I don't have my sheet music—"

He cut her off: "No need, I am quite familiar with this piece. Relax your left shoulder, it's rising, and remember where you must breathe."

Correcting her posture, Christine waited, poised for the introduction of the song. Again, she was astounded by the way this man played! Even in the staccato

two-measure introduction, she could tell he was a remarkable musician. For the second time that evening, she became swept up in the music and completely

missed her queue.

A sigh of exasperation came from her accompanist, who made no effort to disguise his irritation.

"I'm sorry," Christine apologized, bowing her head guiltily, "it's just that you play so well I suppose I got distracted."

"See that you concentrate more fully in the future," was all he said. He did not even acknowledge the fact that she had just paid him a compliment.

The second time they began, Christine managed to start off correctly. She did not even sing four measures before she was stopped again.

"You are singing, which requires you to open your mouth. Italian vowels are full and round. You are trapping the sound and not allowing it to get anywhere.

This…this is what is holding you back, at least in terms of volume. If you want to be heard, you will have to project more fully!"

Throughout this impassioned speech, Christine's attention was not focused so much on what he was saying, but the sound of his voice and the fiery gleam

in his eyes. He obviously truly meant every word of what he said, and music seemed to excite him. She wondered, for the first time since they had met,

who he really was. Where had he come from? Why had he popped back up in her life mere days after the initial meeting? She had not expected to ever see

him again, and the chances of his having wandered into the same practice room in which she had chosen to sing completely by accident seemed very slim.

What had drawn them together again? And what had possessed him to devote his time like this to assist her? Would this be on-going, or was this it? Would

she walk out tonight armed with the knowledge he had given her and soldier on alone? For some reason, the thought was a sad one. Despite his cold manner

and his criticism, she appreciated his instruction, since he definitely knew what he was talking about, and she could already feel the difference in her

untrained voice.

"Again," he said curtly, jerking her from her reverie and launching into the introduction once more.

When the time came for Christine to depart for home, they had not yet managed to run through the entire song without stopping to correct an error. Feeling

weary, Christine announced that she had a bus to catch, and that she really had to run.

"Thank you so much for what you've done for me today. I really appreciate it."

"I will await you tomorrow at the same time," he replied.

"What? You mean, this wasn't just a one-time thing? You're really going to teach me?"

"Of course. Your instrument needs perfecting, though it is quite good already."

Christine blushed; though the compliment could hardly be considered lavish praise, it was as much as he had said to her, and she had a feeling he did not

say such things often. That made it all the sweeter, and she was seized with that same urge to please him.

"By the way, do you have a particular goal to work towards, or are you merely attempting to improve your voice?"

"Well, I was invited to perform at a fund-raiser next month. The Mackenzie Theatre asked me to come and participate in their concert. Why, I don't know,

but I'm taking the opportunity. It's just that I am so out of practice that I feel I need to try and train my voice."

"I see. Until tomorrow, then."

She turned to go, but then she remembered something and turned back to him.

"We've not introduced ourselves. I'm Christine Daae," she said, extending her hand to him.

"It is a pleasure, Christine," he murmured, taking her small hand in his large gloved one. To her surprise, he raised it to his lips in a gesture befitting

a man out of the Victorian Age, and said simply, "you may call me Erik."

"Erik," she repeated, liking the way the name flowed; it seemed to roll off her tongue, and she thought she saw something odd in his eyes when she said

his name. Before she could identify it, it was gone. Perhaps she had imagined it.

"Goodnight, Christine."

She headed out the door saying, "Goodnight, Erik."

Her first thought, as she hurried through the quiet halls of the school, was that she liked the way he said her name. Truly, her name was plain and common,

but he made it sound special, almost…musical. Who was this Erik, and really…what was with the mask anyway?

"Well," she muttered to herself as she slipped out the doors and headed for the bus stop, "he makes things a lot more interesting…"

A/N 2: Before this story progresses any further, I'd like to briefly discuss Christine and Erik's relationship in the chapters to come. As you all know, this will be an EC fic; however, I will not rush the relationship. I will not have them meet, chat a bit, bellow at each other for a while, and then fall into each other's arms spouting declarations of deepest love. Relationships take time, and they are never smooth or perfect, especially with two fragile and intensely complex people like our dear Christine and Erik. I hope you guys are okay with waiting, I always find that bits of fluff and small tender moments here and there amid a more realistic plot line make the fluff more special. Anyway, there's my essay of the week. I apologize, I just wanted to warn you.

Now, hit that lovely button and tell me what you think! You will leave this authoress some love, won't you?


	6. Chapter 6 Where Is Your Soul?

A/n: I know what you're thinking: "About bloody time!" I could detail to you all a long list of the insane things that have kept me from updating for…five months now? But I know nobody wants to read that; they don't want to hear excuses. So, on with the story. But first, some review replies of course:

AprilMayJune—Thank you so much for your welcome review. Yes, that was why I had Erik firing off instructions like a crazy loon, just to keep her distracted. After all, isn't that Erik's chief ability…to block all things that might interfere with his time with Christine? He's a bit less crazy in this chapter, but he's still fairly harsh. The warm fuzziness will come…someday. Thanks for sticking with me!

jedigal125—Thank you for the review! I'm glad you agree; I was actually afraid I'd lose readers, good to know people have more integrity than I gave them credit for. Hope you stick with this story!

Mominator124—Thanks for your review! I'm so glad everyone seems okay with the whole "Erik and Christine are not going to make passionate love on top of the piano on their first meeting" philosophy. I hope I will live up to your expectations. Thanks for sticking around, and I hope to hear from you again!

trep092—Thanks so much for the feedback! I'm glad you enjoy the story. More is on the way…God willing that is.

Etoile du Bolshoi—Gaaa the double spacing! I know…I didn't of course, know it was double-spaced, so I'm not sure how to keep that from happening again, but maybe the powers that be will help me out on that front. Okay, so you don't want to wait for e and c to fall in love? Fine here's an alternate ending just for you: "Christine came to her second lesson with Erik, and he sang to her and she fell in love with him but then she ripped off his mask to…well I dunno she was morbidly curious I guess, and she freaked out and almost fainted, but then she realized that it really doesn't matter what Erik's face looks like, 'cause she loved him regardless! Then they went back to his house, made out like monkeys, hopped into bed and never emerged from the bedroom again! The End!" There ya go! Enjoy! Or…you could just read on. Lol I know you were kidding, I just couldn't resist. Thanks so much for the review!

xXxMusexXx—Wow! I'm so completely touched and honoured and just…tickled pink. Thank you so much for those kind words, you've really been a great encouragement to me. I will keep your suggestions in mind of course, and I sincerely hope you will stay with me on this journey of mine.

Yayyyyy for reviews!

One more thing: I am going betaless for this chapter, so all mistakes are mine.

Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter 6 Where Is Your Soul?

Christine Daae had always had a rather overactive imagination, and in the wee hours of this particular morning it saw fit to torment her. She thrashed about wildly in her bed, arms and legs tangling with the sheets, feverishly attempting to escape from the horrible visions before her mind's eye. Despite her efforts, she remained imprisoned within the death grip of the dream, and regardless of how desperately she struggled, her own cruel mind would not set her free. Visions of her father's pale lifeless face, eyes wide and staring swam before her, soon to be joined by the ravaged visage of her mother, after cancer had had its way with her for several months. The ominous and unmistakable smell of a hospital filled her nostrils; that cold and sterile scent of strong cleaner, cold metal instruments, and suffering. The neutral colour of the walls, meant to inspire peace, only drove her to the brink of madness, and she could only stare fixedly at the faces of her two dead parents, as the soft beeping of a gradually slowing heart monitor tortured her ears. Even her stomach played a role in adding to her pain, as it twisted with mingled guilt and dread. Somehow, it made it even worse reliving the experience with the added knowledge of how it would all end. Though her parents had died separately, she saw them lying together, side by side on the hospital bed. Neither of them were breathing, neither of them still clung to life…

With a huge effort, Christine managed to pry open her heavy eyelids, and was thus freed from the terrible nightmare. However, there was no halting the tears which began to slide resolutely down her face, almost as though they were driven by purpose and refused to stop. A sob choked her, and she could only curl into a tight ball, bury her face into her pillow, and try to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake her grandmother. The last thing she wanted was to worry the poor woman, not when she already had so very much on her mind. Not for the first time, her thoughts drifted idly to Erik.

For the past week, Christine had met with Erik each day after class, and they had practiced not only the song she would sing for the benefit concert, but also embarked on the difficult task of reconstructing her voice after its long period of disuse.

The work was hard, long and stressful, and often Christine found herself holding back tears at her teacher's hard tone. Sometimes she wondered vaguely why she put up with his harsh and often contemptuous treatment of her, but when she thought of the vast difference she could already hear in her singing voice, she understood why this whole ordeal was worth it. Strangely, she had felt no inclination to tell anybody about her mysterious instructor; informing Meg casually over lunch that she was currently rehearsing alone with a mysterious masked man whom she did not know very well did not seem like the best idea. And she knew that she was not foolish enough to tell Raoul either. The poor boy would likely give himself a panic attack. Secretly, she was surprised Raoul was not on medication for his anxiety. He was often teased by others because of his nearly female sensitivity , but besides this he was popular and involved in sports. He was definitely as manly as anyone else, and Christine found his little quirks somewhat endearing. Even so, Christine did not wish for him to know of the daily meetings with Erik, for she herself knew in the darkest recesses of her mind that he was potentially dangerous. He had after all, nearly strangled someone to death before her very eyes, and his presence was undeniably eerie. To put it delicately, Erik was not the kind of man who put the mind at ease.

Still, Christine shoved these sinister thoughts aside, not wishing to admit how stupid she was truly being. A fog seemed to descend over her rational mind whenever she was with him, so that she would dismiss any possible dangers and merely concentrate on her singing. After all, he did save her life on the night of their first encounter, and she could not allow herself to forget that. True, his tongue was as sharp as any sword, but he had never laid a finger on her, nor had he given her any reason to truly fear him. It was that mask…it plagued her thoughts but she knew better than to mention it or try to discover what lay beneath it. For the time being, she would just have to stew in her curiosity, and hope he would someday reveal it willingly to her. She was sure that it was a simple eccentricity; in this day and age people often made "statements" with the odd way they dressed, and she assumed this was Erik's style.

Perhaps the most significant reason Christine allowed herself to be tutored by Erik was the man himself. She loved a good mystery to unravel, and Erik proved a fantastic one for her mind to mull over. He was so introverted and withdrawn, that she was certain some traumatic event in his life must have made him the way he was, which would also account for the cynicism. There was more however, and she wanted so very much to discover what it was about him that drew her. She knew the chief reason for her odd fascination with Erik: his voice. That golden tenor, containing such power and yet such infinite beauty never failed to reward her for her efforts in the music room. She especially adored the way he pronounced her name; she had always thought of her name as plain and unremarkable, but he seemed to sing those two mundane syllables, and add an exotic lilt to the name that made her feel extremely special. She knew it was silly, but she often asked him questions, (when she dared to test his limited patience) just to hear him say: "Yes, Christine?" Even when delivering a harsh command, his voice was angelic. Erik could make "deplorable…from the beginning again" sound pleasing to the ear. Even beyond the very obvious beauty of his voice, some other unnamed thing drew Christine to him. She only wished she could put her finger on it…it was almost as though he buoyed her spirits and boosted her confidence, though he was critical and strict. All in all, she enjoyed the lessons most of the time, and she would occasionally feel nearly frightened at the vast improvement after a mere week under his wing. Was there some sort of crazy witchcraft involved here? Well, whatever it was she thought wryly as she turned over in bed, she hoped it would not fail her.

Pulling herself from her reverie, Christine rose with some difficulty, and padded down the stairs to fetch a drink of water. She hoped the action would settle her nerves and bring sleep to her once more. A very important English exam awaited her that morning, and she had no intention of fainting from exhaustion in the middle of it.

As she stood leaning against the kitchen sink, sipping her water and gazing unseeingly out the window, a sudden sight caught her attention. Transfixed, she stared as two glowing lights seemed to float before her, seemingly suspended in midair without support. The glow was eerie, and the yellow light reminded her of the sinister eyes of a cat as it hunted at night. As quickly as she laid eyes on the two gold pinpricks, they vanished.

"Great…now I'm going crazy," she muttered dryly to herself as she placed the empty glass in the sink and turned to leave the kitchen.

"Christine? Are you down there, sweetheart?"

Christine cringed. She had not meant to awaken her grandmother, but it seemed that her movements had roused the woman, (who was an extremely light sleeper) from her slumber.

"Yes, I'm in the kitchen. I'm sorry I woke you," she called back, moving towards the stairs.

"Oh no you didn't wake me don't worry. I was just wondering if you would grab me a couple of those pills. They're sitting on the shelf above the microwave, I think. The small white bottle."

"Okay, no problem."

Turning on a light, Christine walked over to the indicated spot and picked up the little bottle. The label was long and complex—she definitely couldn't pronounce the name of the medication-but there were instructions clearly written concerning dosage, and Christine finally recognized it as the prescription she had picked up from the pharmacy several weeks ago.

Grabbing a second glass from the cupboard, Christine filled it with water and hurried up the stairs to her grandmother's bedroom.

She nearly gasped when she crossed the threshold. A lamp on the bedside table was lit, and its soft light fell upon the old woman's face, accentuating her unnatural pallor. Her entire body was tense beneath the covers, and it was obvious from her expression that she was in a great deal of pain, though she bravely tried to hide it and appear relaxed.

"Thank you Christine. Oh…don't look so worried you poor child, I'm fine. It's just that the pain is a bit on the nasty side that's all."

"Grandma…you really don't look well. Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital? I can call an ambulance or something—"

"Nonsense. I'm just fine, my doctor warned me this would happen. He said to take this medication when things got a little worse than usual. It's nothing to worry about dear, just go on back to sleep. If you're lucky you can still catch an hour or two of rest before you have to get up for school."

"Grandma…I hate seeing you like this. Are you sure you wouldn't like me to stay? Can I get you something? Tea or … something?"

The old woman chuckled gently, though her voice was strained and it was clear the pain was robbing her of her customary liveliness.

"That's enough now Christine. Don't worry, it'll all be alright. Go on back to bed and I'll see you later, okay?"

Sighing resignedly, Christine nodded, not bothering to mask her reluctance.

"Promise you won't worry?" her grandmother asked, face stern.

"I swear," said Christine with mock solemnity and, in a display of theatrics, kissed her pinky and lifted her eyes heavenward.

"You goose," her grandmother murmured, smiling indulgently as Christine left the room. Only after her granddaughter's steps had faded did Adele permit herself to collapse weakly against her pillows and release a tiny moan of agony. The pain was fierce, setting her joints on fire, and she feared a flare-up. 'At least it can't get any worse' she thought cynically. 'It's not like I have anything to lose…I'm already an invalid.' And, with these unusually pessimistic thoughts swirling in her head, she surrendered to the effects of the drug and fell into an uneasy sleep.

"Morning sunshine!" Meg chirped as Christine stumbled to her locker later that morning. All she received in response was a slight noise in the back of her friend's throat.

"Whoa…what happened to you hon? You look awful! Didn't you get any sleep?"

"Thanks, I love being told how tired and awful I look," Christine muttered, but the remark had no real venom in it. She understood that Meg only meant to comment on her apparent exhaustion, and her bluntness was something Christine was quite accustomed to.

"I didn't sleep all that well. Grandma was in a lot of pain in the middle of the night too, and I actually had to give her something stronger than the usual stuff, just so she could sleep."

"Oh my God, is she okay?" Meg's face went from open and sunny to pale and worried in the space of a second.

"Well, you know how she is. She downplayed the whole thing, I could tell she was trying not to worry me. It seems like it was pretty bad this time. This has been happening more often lately, and I'm really getting freaked out by it."

The shrill ringing of the bell brought the weighty conversation to an abrupt end, and Meg shot Christine a sympathetic glance before catching her in a quick but fierce embrace, grabbing her backpack, and darting off to class. Christine stood for a moment, lost in her thoughts, before her brain registered the fact that it was time she headed for English.

'Oh no…that stupid exam' she thought to herself as she slipped inside just before the second bell rang out, signaling the start of classes.

"Close call there, Christine,," her teacher Mr. Matthews remarked as she slid hastily into her seat near the back. He was a small man, perhaps reaching five feet six inches, with a head of dark hair that was constantly sticking up every which way in a highly unruly fashion. He habitually smoothed it down with his fingers in an almost nervous gesture whenever he was caught up in a lecture, or when he was feeling some strong emotion. His students took great delight in mocking him behind his back, but they generally enjoyed his classes. He was a tough teacher to please, for his standards were set at university level, but his infectious optimism and quick sense of humour made him a very likable individual.

"Okay, settle down guys and clear off your desks, pockets, sleeves, and any other weird hiding place in which you might be stashing notes. We've got that awesome exam for you today…don't you dare laugh, I've seen people hide stuff in some pretty interesting places." With a collective groan, the class deposited their notebooks and texts beneath their desks, some students hurriedly glancing over their notes one more time before reluctantly settling them out of sight.

"Okay guys…here it is! Have fun and good luck! Oh don't groan like that; it's Shakespeare of course it's fun!"

Christine fought valiantly to concentrate on the exam, but her thoughts kept wandering in the same dizzying circle: Grandma, nightmares, Erik…Grandma, nightmares, Erik…and so on. Eventually, her exhausted brain took up the silent chant: grandma and nightmares and Erik, oh my! Thoroughly irritated with herself, Christine threw herself into the exam, drastically improving her work on the second half, so that Mr. Matthews would later wonder if a different student had written the first portion.

'I am not going to pass out from lack of sleep today, I'm going to honour my promise to grandma and not worry too much, and I am going to pass this bloody test so I don't fail this course.'

To be fair, she truly did try to keep this determined line of thinking going, but she soon lost her drive, and was back to being dragged down by a powerful feeling of lethargy.

By the end of the day, Christine was a wreck, and desired nothing so much as to crawl into bed and sleep for eternity. It was with a stab of annoyance that she recalled her daily rehearsal with Erik. She knew she could not meet his impossibly high standards when she was so weary, but what could she do? She would never dare to try to skip this lesson, and somehow she did not think she would prevail in requesting the evening off.

"I'd have to be bleeding internally or something, and even then he'd just be glad I'm not making a mess on the floor."

"What was that?" Meg inquired curiously as she walked past Christine towards the double doors and freedom.

"Hmm? Oh…nothing. Sorry."

"Are you actually going to practice again today? You should go home and get some rest sweetie, you look like you're about to fall over."

"Yeah, are you sure you're up for it?" Raoul asked, popping up from nowhere it seemed, and joining the conversation.

Smiling weakly at them both, she waved a hand dismissively.

"I'll be just fine, guys. Don't worry, I've still got plenty of energy for singing—" she was cut off as she stifled a yawn.

"mhmm…I'm sure you do. Well, call me if you want an early ride home and don't want to wait for the buses, okay?" Raoul placed a hand on her shoulder as he said this, and Christine nodded.

"will do, thanks Raoul."

"No problem babe."

"See you guys later," Christine said to them, forcing some cheerfulness into her voice and swiftly kissing Raoul's cheek before turning to head in the direction of the music room.

"Bye," they chorused after her.

"Good God, I bet she doesn't last five minutes once she sits down," Meg said with the beginnings of a grin.

"Yep…somebody'll find her slumped over on the piano." Raoul agreed laughing.

"I hope…I hope she's okay. She's been kind of weird recently, ever since she started singing again," Meg mused.

"Yeah, a bit. Oh hey, you'll miss your bus if you hang around any longer Miss Marguerite. Run along," Raoul teased, using Meg's full name, something she absolutely hated.

Turning swiftly, the tiny blonde grasped Raoul's shoulders as well as she could, and looked up into his face.

"Say that again, punk!" she growled in her most menacing tone, but the effect was ruined by the fact that Raoul towered over her.

He was preparing to make a comeback when Meg suddenly released him and ran like a bat out of hell towards the bus that sat idling in front of the school, hair flying.

Laughing, Raoul walked out to his car, pondering his girlfriend's odd behaviour. She behaved almost as though she knew a secret that nobody else did. So strange…

Dread twisting in her stomach, Christine jogged into the music room, aware that she was already late, and Erik despised tardiness.

"You are late," were the first words she heard him utter in his entrancing voice, and she wondered how he could make even a reprimand sound like music, albeit harsh music.

"I know, I got distracted—"

"Scales." Was his icy reply.

Trudging to stand in the bend of the piano, Christine forced her reluctant body into the proper posture for song, and took in a breath to sing. She had barely sung her way up the scale when the music stopped abruptly and Erik turned his body on the bench to scrutinize her. Christine's last note hung in the air for an unnaturally long time, as though unwilling to be made silent, and resentful of the interruption.

Erik's piercing golden gaze bored steadily into Christine's eyes as he studied her intently for what felt like hours, before he finally spoke.

"You are very tense."

"Um…well…yes, a bit."

"You must relax in order to sing, Christine."

There he went again, saying her name as though it were a prayer. "If you do not relax, your jaw will lock, your sound will emerge strangled and weak, and the song will be lifeless."

"I understand Erik. I'm sorry I'll…try to relax a little." She wondered inwardly how in Heaven's name she was going to accomplish this, but she knew she would much rather strive to please Erik with what vestiges of strength she still possessed, than break down and divulge the reasons for her stress. Somehow she was sure that a petty English exam and a vague worry about her grandmother would seem unimportant to him.

"Again," he said shortly, turning back to the piano and beginning to play. Christine once more began her scales, and she tried to sound more alive and less like someone whose dearest wish was to curl up in a ball and sleep forever. Then there was the nagging worry that refused to give her any peace. Her shoulders tensed automatically, betraying her, and her jaw clenched slightly, constricting her vowels noticeably. Erik stopped playing again, and this time he stood. 'Uh-oh' Christine thought darkly, wondering what he was planning to say to her. She really couldn't handle one of his lectures at the moment. To her surprise, Erik moved to stand directly behind her, bringing his perpetually chilled hands to rest on her shoulders.

"You are still too tense; I will attempt to solve this problem."

He began to massage her shoulders vigorously, and though his grip was bordering on painful, Christine could actually feel her muscles relaxing under his touch. She unconsciously leaned back against him as he worked the tensed muscles in her shoulders and neck, and though his touch was quite business-like and impersonal, she could not repress a rush of…excitement? Pleasure? What was it? Before she had time to analyze the feeling, it had faded, and Erik was releasing her.

Stepping back a few paces, he instructed her simply: "Try again, without the music."

Christine began her scales for the third time, and there was a notable difference in her sound; a strength and effortlessness that had been absent before. Erik was apparently a miracle worker. Awed at the change, Christine enjoyed her renewed vigor and sang till she reached her register break, and then continued to climb higher and higher. She went on until she was told to stop.

"Now, your Gia Il Sole."

Erik sat swiftly down at the piano again, and played the two-measure introduction. Thankfully, Christine had practiced the wretched song so often that it was now a part of her, and she did not miss her queue. She sang the aria through once, and she knew she had sung it well, in form at least. A flutter of hope bubbled up inside her. Perhaps Erik would acknowledge this triumph?

He let the final chord fade completely into silence before commenting.

"Your pitch was flawless, vowels tall, your sound focused."

A radian smile lit Christine's features, but Erik was not finished.

"However, you were absent from it the entire time. That performance was wholly insincere and unconvincing."

The smile faded, and Christine knew with a sinking feeling that he was right. She had simply stood there and sang. She had not really been thinking of the text, only the technique.

"Christine, are you aware of the meaning of the words you are singing?"

"Yes, mostly," she guiltily replied.

"Very well. What is the basic gist of this song, then?"

"Oh how lovely is the sunrise," she responded meekly.

"Excellent. Tell me Christine, if you know what this song is truly about, why do you sing it as though the meaning was: 'oh how dreary is this world I live in'?"

Christine did not answer; she only hung her head in silent submission to his hard words.

As though he noticed her defeat in the slump of her shoulders, Erik seemed to take pity on her.

"We shall find your soul Christine. This shall be the goal of our subsequent lessons: to discover your passion and your feeling. Where is your soul, Christine? For that is what you lack more than anything else. You sing, but it is merely melody and lyric, as though you were programmed to sing the song. You shall never make your way in this world if you cannot convince your audience that you believe what you are communicating to them."

"I…I don't know. I used to believe what I sang but now…it's like I can't bring myself to lose myself in the music the way I used to."

"Time and hard work will help you find this passion. I cannot teach you this; you must find it within yourself. Now come, you are exhausted. Sit and I will play for you. There is little more that could be accomplished today, considering the state you're in."

A little shocked, (Erik had never before offered to play for her) she nodded and sat down in a nearby chair as he began to play something she vaguely recognized as a Bach piece.

Despite her disappointment with herself, Christine let Erik's music sweep her up in a current of irresistible pleasure, and simply listened rapturously. He played for a very long time; he played until it was nearly time for her to leave on the bus she normally caught, and yet she never grew restless, nor did she become bored with his playing. Erik glanced once over his shoulder, only to find his pupil leaning forward in her seat, eyes fixated on his fingers as they glided over the ivory keys. He studied the expression of total and complete contentment and wonder on her face, and a rare feeling of hope burgeoned inside his chest. Perhaps…perhaps things would work out. Perhaps a creature such as himself did deserve happiness… After all, she wasn't running; she wasn't shrieking in terror; she wasn't shrinking away in disgust. She was only sitting there smiling at the music he created: in this moment, in his very presence, she was enchanted.

The strange spell did not break when he ceased his playing, for Christine walked out of the music room in a daze.

A/n: I know it's not the most satisfying chapter after how long I've made you wait, but after finals move out of my way (bloody annoying things) I'll be able to write more often and hopefully update regularly. In the meantime, please drop me a line, I adore reviews, whatever they say.

Hugs to all,

ES


	7. Chapter 7 Introductions and Intrigue

A/n: All right beloved readers, here's the next chapter. It's a bit long, but I decided to leave it that way because of the wait I keep imposing on you all. Again, I am betaless for this chapter, so all mistakes are mine.

Now for some review replies:

JadedWarrior—Thanks for the review! Adorable? I never thought of my story as such, but I thank you all the same! I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Jedigal125—I know, I know, I'm terrible when it comes to quick updates, but at least this chapter's absurdly long to make up for the wait I keep putting you through. Thanks for the review!

Tina95—I have a huge grin spreading across my face as I read your review. Thank you so much for the praise, I'm very honoured. I'm glad you approve of my writing style and my decision to take things slow and easy. Well, maybe not easy, but you get the idea. Nothing is easy with Erik involved. I hope you continue to read and enjoy!

Mominator124—Thanks for the review! Yeah, Raoul is…interesting in this one. See, as my profile says, I'm not a fop huntress, but that doesn't mean I have to be nice to him all the time. Lol No, Erik is too good with his instruments for anybody to fall asleep to his music unless he wants them to. Please keep reading, and I hope this chapter pleases!

Muse—Thank you so much, once again, for your kind words and your enthusiasm. You make my day, my dear! Yes, "Again, damn it!" is Erik's anthem, as is my own music teacher's, minus the profanity. Lol I'm glad you looked forward to the update, and I hope the wait for this chapter wasn't too long. I went through several different stages writing this chapter, so hopefully it's worth the wait.

Etoile du Bolshoi—Thanks for the review! Aww, no OCD comments? I think I might cry. Well, I'm glad you liked it, notwithstanding. Keep reading, and I'm glad you liked the real version of the story rather than the sampler I gave you. Just shows your integrity. Lol

Trep—Everyone keeps asking me to ship Erik to them for a massage, and as much as I'd love to, he's kind of busy administering one to me at the moment. (muffled shouts come from my closet) Oh…just ignore all that. He' really does like it in there. (opens the closet door and whispers menacingly: "Shut up Erik! You're supposed to be my muse! So…inspire me or something!") Thanks for the review, I hope you like the next chapter, even though it doesn't have much Erik in it, sadly.

Reviews are the greatest gift you can give to an author, and while I don't demand them, or write any slower if I don't get them, I do really, really love them! Please keep 'em coming!

I'd also like to take a moment to thank those that are reading, but that have not yet reviewed. I know you're out there, you all mean so much to me, so thank you!

And now…read on, darlings, read on.

Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter 7 Introductions and Intrigue

"Christine Daaé, whatever shall I do with you?"

As the final notes of her song faded, Christine's eyes dropped to survey her shoes to escape Erik's piercing gaze. His voice was not harsh as she might have expected, but rather it was unspeakably weary, as though he had not anticipated such a struggle in "finding her soul". After a half hour of attempting to inject more feeling and passion into her song, and-by Erik's standards-not improving it more than a fractional amount, Christine felt exhausted, frustrated and above all, helpless. It was as though Erik saw some potential passion in her that she did not in truth possess. What soul was he talking about? If she only knew how to unlock the true happiness and glorious rapture that this aria commanded of her, then she would do it. It was figuring out where it lay within her and how to access it that made it difficult for her to really feel what she was singing. Her song tended to sound perfect in pitch and crystal clear, but it lacked any type of true happiness, rendering the lyrics pointless.

Erik stood up from his place on the piano bench beside Christine and began to pace about the small music room, apparently in a state of immense agitation. Unable to speak for the knot of anxiety in her stomach, Christine stood there watching his pacing. Would he finally give up on her? Had he wasted his time long enough and finally decided she was beyond all hope of teaching the finer points of music? Should she offer to leave and relieve him of his position as teacher? Not that she had hired or even asked him to help her, but perhaps she could offer him what little money she could provide him with for his services. After all, he had taken her a long way back down the path to the restoration of her voice. She could now perform at the Mackenzie Theatre's concert with a measure of confidence. Erik's voice cut into her musings then, but it had shed its weary quality.

"Perhaps this will make it easier for you," he mused as he resumed his position at the piano. His fingers glided over the ivory keys once more, and he began to play the introduction to 'Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring' more beautifully than Christine had ever heard it, even when it was played by an entire orchestra complete with the joyous cry of a violin singing out the melody.

"You are familiar with this piece," Erik stated, since it really wasn't a question. As it happened, Christine knew every word to the song, and she rationalized that Erik assumed that any lover of classical music would be acquainted with it. In truth, it was a song that Christine had sung often with her father, and one she had grown to love and associate with the joy of being with him, and which was now mingled very slightly with a tinge of sorrow for her loss.

"Yes," she finally managed to say, though it came out more like a feeble squeak. "But I haven't sung it in a really, really long time."

"No matter. Give it a try, Christine." He instructed, more gently than she had ever heard him.

Moving into the proper position for singing and lifting her eyes reluctantly from her feet, she opened her mouth and sang the long series of notes on "ah" that adorned the beginning of the piece. Then she sang:

"Jesu joy of man's desiring,

Holy wisdom, love most bright!

Drawn by thee

Our souls aspiring

Soar to uncreated light!"

With each word, her voice gained strength, and she allowed her memory to display the images from her life before the death of her mother, when life was simple and beautiful; when heartache was just a silly and overdramatic expression for sorrow that did not truly exist; when a smile hardly ever left her lips, and music was her constant companion. She captured all that old joy and wonder and life, and poured it out into the little music room through the transcendent words and melody of the song she sang. Dimly, in the musical interlude, she heard Erik command softly in his rich voice; "Yes Christine, sing!" And so she continued.

"Word of God

Our flesh that fashioned

With the fire of life impassioned!"

"Sing!"

"Striving still

To truth unknown

Soaring, dying

Round thy throne."

Then her voice rose and fell in the long series of wordless notes once more, ending both majestically and a little sorrowfully as well, slightly tainting the joy of the song with nostalgia.

After the last chord had fallen silent, Christine could do nothing but stand perfectly still but for her heaving chest. Every note had been effortless; her voice had truly soared over the notes as though it were water flowing endlessly to the sea. She felt as though she could have sang forever while she rode that current of exultation, and yet—now that the song was done—she felt very, very tired. Without thinking, she dropped onto the piano bench and sighed. Only then did she register her proximity to Erik, and an inexplicable blush rose to her cheeks at their sudden closeness. The only time in their three weeks of lessons that they had ever been so close was the time Erik had tried to relax her by rubbing her shoulders. That had been strange as well, and Christine had felt remarkably frightened and yet intrigued to be so close to him then, and it was no different now. Her impulses were mixed; one part of her told her to stand back up again and move to stand in the bend of the piano where she usually stood, the other part of her told her to remain where she was. Why did she feel like this? Erik was just a man…just a stranger who had taken pity on her rough vocal skills and decided to help her out. And for the umpteenth time the question floated back into her mind, breaking free of the cage she tried to lock it in. Why? Why do all this? Why was he at her high school? Why had he picked that day to come waltzing into this particular music room and randomly appoint himself as her informal vocal coach? 'No!' Christine thought vehemently, pushing the doubts and questions back. She didn't want to mull over the strangeness of it all. It made her shiver just thinking about it. Best to deal with her doubts later. Erik's intake of breath from her left drew her attention to him once more. They really were sitting closely together—her shoulder was nearly touching his. She slowly brought her eyes to his amber gaze and he finally spoke.

"Well done, my dear. You see what I meant now, don't you?"

Feeling only slightly disappointed, (she knew full well that Erik did not give compliments freely) she nodded.

"I think so."

"Now, if you feel up to it, your Gia Il Sole once again. Apply the same feelings to this song as you did before. Then, and only then, will your audience believe you. You can pluck at the stiffest of heart strings, if you try hard enough."

Christine looked doubtful for a moment. "That song was so special to me; I didn't have to work to find the emotion to put into it. I don't know if I can transfer the same energy into this song."

"you will find the place from which that energy flows, and you will be able to summon it nearly on command. You just need to stop focusing so hard on the notes and pitch and pronunciation. It is all perfect, or as close to perfection as it is possible to achieve. But a voice without a soul is not worth listening to. Your voice is lovely Christine, but it is not pleasant to listen to when it is passionless."

"Okay," Christine replied shakily, "I'll try it."

She stood and positioned herself so that her collarbone remained high, shoulders lined up with her parted feet, and began to sing the aria that was now drilled into her very core from three weeks of constant practice. She sang with all her might, desperately trying to measure up to this ideal Erik seemed to have for her. He had said her voice was lovely…was he being serious? That was the most extravagant compliment he had ever offered her…

"Back in the text, Christine," Erik snapped sharply, and she tore her mind from its previous train of thought and focused on the glowing happiness of the aria. Sunrise…dew drops…sparkling like diamonds…like diamonds…lovely sunshine…lots of pretty, just a whole bunch of shiny sunny happiness! Yes, there it was! She had it! She found that simply remembering that Erik had complimented her voice buoyed her emotions and made it possible for her to display the joy the aria described. If she held onto this feeling—this exquisite happiness—she would be able to succeed with grace and ease. Her happiness doubled when Erik informed her after several repetitions of certain lines in which more colour of emotion was required, that she had improved greatly in the three short weeks he had been teaching her.

For the final half hour of the lesson, Erik played for her. She supposed it was a reward of sorts, and so she relished it as much as she had the last time he had played for her. 'I'm really going to miss him' she thought sadly as his graceful hands caused the piano to produce the most wondrous of sound. 'I'll have to go it alone after this, but I don't want to stop singing again. I want to pursue this, now that I can do it without crying.'

Erik's song drew to a gentle close, and Christine realized reluctantly that it was time she left to catch her bus. On impulse, she walked to where Erik still sat and said:

"Thank you…for the compliment, and for your help. I feel like I can actually do this now. I don't think I could have done it without you. So thanks." She reached out to touch his hand, and involuntarily recoiled at the chill. She tried to cover up the awkward moment by smiling and turning swiftly away to fetch her backpack from the corner, but she could have sworn a shadow had passed over his face, and he had withdrawn his hand even before she had fully removed hers. Even through the thin gloves he always seemed to be so cold. It disconcerted her for a reason she could not quite fathom, but she vowed she would not be so discourteous if she ever found herself in the same situation a second time. She was not exactly sure, but she thought she had hurt him by moving away from him so quickly.

She barely heard his "you're very welcome, Christine" as she hurried from the room.

That night, Raoul came over to Christine's house, and they spent the evening watching a terrible movie, and mocking it enthusiastically the entire time. Christine preferred this; had the movie been enjoyable, she and Raoul might not have laughed and talked so much. She had always resented movie dates because they prevented couples from interacting with each other, but Raoul was a movie buff, so she compensated by engaging him in conversation whenever they watched one together. She would have loved a walk, but walking at night in the city in late November was not the most romantic of ventures, nor the safest, and so she supposed a movie would do. As they sat through one part, a lull in conversation gave Christine the opportunity to study Raoul's face. His features were very handsome, almost feminine in their beauty, and his smile was dazzling. She noticed however, that his gaze on her own face was idle, as though he were looking at her without truly seeing her. Unbidden, an image of Erik's intense eyes flashed into her mind. Erik always seemed not so much as to look at Christine, but rather gaze at her as though he were giving her his undivided attention, always. It was almost unnerving, but also flattering, to know that he was looking at her so intently. What did he see there, she wondered? 'Raoul never looks at me like that,' she thought, only to ponder seconds later why she had ever even contemplated comparing Erik to Raoul! Erik was just her teacher, nothing more; Raoul was her boyfriend for goodness' sake! What was the connection between them? Absolutely none, she decided, and pushed thoughts of Erik out of her mind, knowing they would return again in the night when she lay awake, listening to the deafening silence of the house, whether she wanted them to or not. It was a strange thought, and it made her shiver.

"Cold, babe?" Raoul asked, draping an arm around her.

For a moment, 'no I'm fine' sprang to her lips, but instead she chose to cuddle closer to him, resting her head against his chest and wrapping an arm around his waist. It occurred to her that she hadn't been this close to him in a long time. She would have to make an effort to pay more attention after this whole concert affair was over, she decided.

Unfortunately, the cuddling session did not last as long as she would have liked, because Raoul grew warm too quickly, but it was nice all the same to be near to somebody. She had a glaring lack of physical affection in her life, having lost her parents; she supposed hugs from Raoul and Meg made up for this, at least in part. She loved them both all the more for it.

Christine awoke on the morning of the official rehearsal for the benefit concert, and realized that either she was extremely nervous or a whole host of butterflies had made her stomach their new home. She was in slight shock, as though she still couldn't quite believe that anyone would have known she could sing, and that they would have invited her to sing at their prestigious benefit concert. She was eager to learn who had suggested her, so that she could ask how they had possibly known she could sing. The only time she had sung in public, was at a Christmas mass with her father when she was fifteen. She doubted anybody of consequence would have watched her then, and remembered her two years later. Well, at any rate she would know very soon. Now, she had to focus on preparing for school without becoming a total bundle of nerves.

This proved difficult when she found herself placing the cereal box in the refrigerator and the milk jug in the cupboard.

She stopped in at her grandmother's door to say good morning as usual, and even the old woman (who was hazy with pain medication as her arthritis had made it necessary for her to take the "special" medicine again) could tell that Christine was not herself.

"What on Earth is the matter, Christine? You seem so…nervous."

Christine blushed. Was she so obviously transparent?

"I am a bit. The rehearsal at the Mackenzie is tonight, and I'm freaking out right now. I'm having…doubts."

An encouraging smile lit her grandmother's face, but Christine could not help but notice that the expression lacked its usual vibrant energy.

"You will blow them away, Christine. You're a fool if you're so worried. Confidence is the most attractive quality a woman can have; if you walk in there with your pretty head held high, nobody will try to intimidate you. I know you don't have much experience with this kind of thing, but I think you'll handle it just fine. Now, get off to school and stop being so silly, okay?"

"Okay," Christine promised, smiling.

"Good luck, sweetie," Raoul murmured, kissing the top of Christine's head as he pulled up in front of the Mackenzie that evening.

"Thanks, I'm going to need it," she responded shakily, trying to stop her body's incessant trembling.

Raoul did not even bother to contradict her; he knew she was beautiful, talented, and completely worthy of this theatre and the seasoned professionals within it, but he understood that she did not and likely would never feel that she was worthy. Instead, he peered at his phone, which had just beeped cheerfully, informing him that he had received a text message.

"It's from Meg," he told Christine as she reached for the door handle, "telling you that she wishes you luck and to stop being so 'damn nervous'. Oh, and she says she loves you. We both do, Chrissy."

Christine laughed in spite of her inner turmoil. Trust Meg to be frank about Christine's lack of confidence. Meg had desperately wanted to join Christine on the trip to the theatre for moral support, but she had been forced to stay home and do battle with yet another history assignment.

"I love you both too."

"Go on then," he urged, pointing to the imposing glass doors which revealed a sumptuously decorated foyer.

Without allowing herself to hesitate another moment, Christine slid from the passenger seat of Raoul's car, closed the door softly behind her, and walked up to the doors. For one agonizing moment, she had the strongest compulsion to run; to catch Raoul before he had driven far and entreat him to take her home and forget the whole mess. Strangely enough, it was not the comforting words of her friends and her grandmother that convinced her to find her courage, but the words Erik had spoken to her after their final lesson before the rehearsal.

"You are already better than any of those pompous fools in that nest of politics and false glamour. Now go and show them what it is to truly sing! Would you waste all the time and effort we have both invested in this past month for the sake of a few nerves?"

She felt that the nerves were much more difficult to overcome than Erik seemed to think, but she took him at his word, and chose to obey his command. She would go in, sing her song, and pray that they did not dismiss her from the stage with derisive expressions on their faces.

Grasping the cold metal handle tightly, she pulled open the door and stepped inside.

Her shoes clicked noisily against a polished wooden floor, which had been waxed until it shone with hundreds of tiny reflected spots of light. For a moment, she was unsure of where to go, but her gaze fell upon a bored-looking receptionist seated at a large mahogany desk in a corner of the enormous entrance hall.

"Excuse me," she called timidly as she approached the desk, pushing down her feelings of trepidation.

"yes?" the woman asked, not looking up from a sheet of paper that lay before her, pen poised.

"Um…I'm Christine Daaé, and I'm hear for the rehearsal—"

"Ah yes of course. Go on in, everybody else is already here and warming up."

She gestured briefly to a pair of double doors that led into the main theatre, and went back to her paperwork.

Feeling thoroughly cowed by both the grandeur of the place and the unfriendly conduct of the receptionist, Christine thanked the woman and headed for the indicated doors. As she opened them and stepped carefully through, her breath was taken from her lungs at the sight before her. The theatre was enormous—perhaps seating thousands—and there were seats both on the floor and rising upward in a balcony towards the back and on the sides of the room. It resembled a stadium in some ways, and the ceiling was extremely high. Her attention was next drawn to the well-lit stage, which at the moment was alive with activity. People fluttered everywhere, chattering among themselves and shuffling sheet music. A few people were grouped around the grand piano which rested just to the left of the stage, warming up their voices.

As the doors made an echoing noise when Christine released them, one woman detached herself from the group of vocalizing singers, and headed down the centre aisle of the theatre towards her. She was a very attractive woman of perhaps forty years of age or so, with a dazzling smile on her pretty face. She was dressed casually in loose-fitting, comfortable-looking black yoga pants and black tank top despite the frigid weather outside, and she had an air of confident friendliness. Christine felt self-conscious in her more formal clothing, but the woman's smile was reassuring.

"Oh, hello there! You must be Christine! I see you've survived Marlene. Good for you!"

At Christine's questioning look, the woman explained herself.

"Marlene's our dear receptionist," she clarified in an attitude of cheerful resignation "and she's not exactly known for her charm. She's a good worker though, so they keep her around."

Christine laughed weakly, but she began to feel more at ease in the presence of this kindly woman.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the woman gasped, smacking herself in the forehead dramatically, "I didn't even introduce myself! I'm Carlotta Martinez." She extended a hand covered with flashing rings, which might have looked gaudy had they been on any other person's hand. Somehow, they fit Carlotta and suited her very well. Christine tried not to look as amazed as she felt, grasping Carlotta's offered hand. The name rang a vague bell, and she was fairly certain Carlotta was an internationally famous soprano. Could she truly be performing at the same place as this glamorous opera star?

"Wow! Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Martinez—"

"Pfft! None of that, please! Just call me Carlotta, and I'll call you Christine, sound good?"

"Yes, thank you. I'm honoured to meet you."

"Ah, heard of me have you? Well I'm honestly flattered, but really I'm just another singer who had the luck to make it somewhere. So please don't' let that intimidate you or anything."

Shocked at Carlotta's friendliness and kindness, Christine felt more comfortable in this huge theatre that had never failed to dazzle her. It was so different being in it now that she knew she might be performing upon that stage. She had been too enthralled by the music of 'Carmen' when she had last been here to notice her surroundings , but it truly was imposing.

"Well, Christine my girl, would you like to meet everyone?"

"I'd—I'd love to!"

"Come on then," Carlotta urged cheerily, pulling Christine by the arm towards the stage, where the rest of the vocalists and assorted performers had stopped flitting about and were focused on Carlotta and her new companion. "I'm just visiting really. Normally, I'm based out of Toronto, but I came here for a season or two…you know, to get away from such a demanding schedule and stuff. I love it here, though, and I've gotten to know everyone so well. I think you'll enjoy it here, Christine."

"Okay Christine, introduction time. This is Arianna," she said, pointing to a delicate-looking blonde who smiled shyly at Christine from beside the piano; "Michael, ," a tall, good-looking young man nodded to Christine in acknowledgement; "Tara," a dark-haired woman in her late teens or early twenties grinned unrestrainedly; "Nicholas, our stage manager," yet another extremely handsome man in his thirties bowed dramatically, "Pierre, the world's most conceited baritone," a rather rotund older man simply glared at Carlotta in a mocking sort of way; "Scott, our unbearably meticulous conductor," Carlotta indicated a very short man who had not even lifted his eyes from a sheet of music and was not paying any attention; "and of course, Mercy, who is our valued accompanist" a small, slender woman with a very pretty face and bright, intelligent eyes waved enthusiastically from her seat at the gleaming piano.

"These are just the people who are here at the moment, there are a bunch of other people; dancers, the chorus, some instrumentalists—"

"But we're the important ones." Nicholas, the handsome stage manager quipped with a completely straight face.

After shooting Nick an amused glance, Carlotta turned to face Christine.

"I'll let Nick and Mercy get you set up; I've got to warm up as I was fashionably late today, so I'll see you later. Come see me if you have any trouble, or ask any of us, we're all here if you need us."

"Thanks so much," Christine replied, relieved at everyone's friendliness, with the possible exception of the conductor.

Carlotta simply smiled and darted off through a side door, presumably to warm up in private.

Christine felt momentarily unsure, until Mercy stood up from the piano and made her way towards her new charge. As she approached, Christine was struck once more by her bright eyes and her strong-featured but somehow sweet-looking face. Her smile was as welcoming as Carlotta's had been, but somehow it seemed more…genuine, as though she were not trying so hard to impress upon Christine how friendly she was. Christine's five feet three inches was considered short, and Mercy was even shorter, but somehow her presence was still a powerful one.

"Okay Christine, do you need warming up?"

"No actually. I warmed up before I came here."

Mercy grinned. "Excellent! May I have your music, then? I'll put it in the folder with the others, so that the rehearsal can run a bit smoother."

Christine surrendered the sheet music she had been clutching the entire time she'd been in the theatre to the accompanist, and was rewarded with another grin.

"Gia Il Sole Dal Gan Ge! Ambitious!" Mercy murmured admiringly, examining the music.

. "You're in luck, hon. I've played this a few times before, so you won't have to live through the ordeal of trying to sing while I'm learning the music still. This is going to be great! I can't wait to hear you sing. The suspense is killing all of us, truth to tell. No offense, but you're kind of an unknown—"

"Lesson number one, love, never—under any circumstances—allow Mercy to start babbling on. She builds up a head of steam and can go on indefinitely if she isn't reined in. Just a tip." The handsome stage manager Nicholas had joined them, and was facing down Mercy's glare. Christine noticed that he had a lovely accent that sounded British. Admittedly, for a woman with such small stature, Mercy had an alarmingly terrifying expression on her face. Nicholas took it all in stride, however, and simply ignored her, turning again to Christine.

"Nicholas Harper, and you're Christine… Daaé? Is that how you pronounce it?"

Christine laughed. "Yes, actually. Congratulations." Normally, Christine would have been timid and hard pressed to utter a word among these strangers, but Nicholas' easy charm and Mercy's quick acceptance of her made her brave.

"Nice to meet you, Nicholas—"

"Just call me Nick, sweetheart. We're all friends here, after all. And I always hated Nicholas!"

Laughing once again, Christine glanced over at the others assembled on the stage. Was everyone so friendly around this place? She had expected the people to be more…condescending. Some nobody encroaching on their territory couldn't be easy for them to accept. Erik himself had warned her not to allow them to intimidate her, but he had not seemed overly anxious. Perhaps he did not think these people would be terribly contemptuous of her.

"I'm…I'm so honoured to be here with all of you. I mean, I'm just the average Joe—"

She was cut off by Mercy's dismissive gesture, and Nick's snort. It seemed nobody had any qualms about interrupting people in this place.

"Nonsense, love. We all have to start somewhere. Every single person in this room was just like you at some point. Besides, I'm not even the one with the talent here. I'm just the under-appreciated stage manager after all." Nick pretended to wipe his eyes. His casual use of endearments and his humorous charm captivated Christine, and she decided she liked this man.

Mercy laid a hand on Christine's arm reassuringly. "You wouldn't be here, if you didn't' have an ounce of talent. Now throw those doubts away and come sit. We'll be starting soon. I think Her Majesty has finished warming up, and we can finally get a move on."

Christine saw Carlotta emerging from the same side door from which she had exited the theatre a few minutes before.

"Okay everyone, let's all stop chitter-chattering and get ready to begin, lest we incur Scott's wrath. Come on!" Nick moved into his stage manager role effortlessly, directing everyone off the stage and into the front row of seats.

As if on queue, Scott, the grim-faced conductor emerged from some concealed spot, and surveyed everyone with an expression that said clearly: behave-or-I-will-hurt-you.

"Alright guys, this is it. Unfortunately, a good many of our instrumentalists aren't here yet, because a lot of them are flying in as you all know. So, it's just Mercy today, and perhaps Michael will lend us his violin skills to fill in when he's not singing?"

Michael, the young singer nodded briefly at Scott, as though afraid to say no. They all seemed to respect and even fear their conductor, and Christine felt sure that even Nick would shy away from disagreeing with him.

"Good. We'll follow the program so everyone knows the order. Nick, you're doubling as MC, right?"

"Yes indeedy," Nick replied cheerfully, rising from his seat.

"Alright. I have the stuff you're supposed to say right here, so take a microphone and go ahead. Mercy, take your place, please."

All this was said in a strict, sharp manner that made Christine want to jump to his every wish, though he had not addressed her.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Nick began, in a deep, and unnecessarily sultry voice, hamming it up, "I give you mezzo soprano Arianna Fields, and tenor Michael Carrier, singing a song from West Side Story."

Immediately, the rest of the assembled performers burst into enthusiastic applause, cheering and stamping unnecessarily. After a moment's hesitation, Christine joined in. Pierre yelled out theatrically: "I love you, Anna!" Giggling helplessly, Arianna blew Pierre a mocking kiss, and loped gracefully on stage to stand next to Matthew. Christine thought she must be a dancer as well as a singer, judging by the grace with which she moved. Arianna reminded her of Meg, who had been dancing since she was old enough to walk.

"no love for me? Come on, people!"

"Fine…I love you, Mike!" Carlotta called, pretending to loath the words she uttered.

"Thanks, darling dear. I love you too! Great enthusiasm, there, Carly!"

"For the hundredth time I hate being called that!" Carlotta yelled at him, , fighting a grin.

"Enough! Honestly, it's like working with a bunch of children every time I try to rehearse with you people. I am not looking forward to our next project!" Scott growled at them. Finally, the tiny audience settled down, and Arianna and Michael composed their faces, taking their proper stance.

Christine listened, enraptured at Arianna's soft, very pleasing voice, marvelling at the fact that it was as delicate as her body appeared, and yet it possessed a strength and confidence Christine feared her stronger voice would never achieve. Michael's tenor was rich and appealing, but it still carried a boyish quality which made him sound…adorable. He gave his listener the urge to hug him. Absently, Christine wondered if Arianna and Michael were romantically involved. Their chemistry onstage during this love song was perfect, and they seemed to sing to each other, forgetting the others in the room. The spell was broken halfway through, when Scott made some adjustments, but finally everyone was satisfied and they were allowed to finish the duet unhindered.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, Carlotta Martinez, the well-known and internationally famous soprano, will gift us by singing a passage from "Faust"."

Carlotta swept onto the stage with an air of familiarity and a complete lack of nervousness that Christine envied strongly. She stood up straight, but Christine could not help but notice that Carlotta stretched her neck and lifted her head higher than she should have. Erik had chided Christine a few times about holding her head too high. She could almost hear his voice in her head saying sharply: "You can't expect to hit a note correctly if your neck is stretched out like some absurd goose." Was it possible that a famous opera singer was not following the proper method of standing when she sang? Or did she simply not need to worry about her stance when she clearly had a wonderful instrument?

Mercy began to play, and the opening trill of "The Jewel Song" poured from Carlotta's throat, spilling out into the empty theatre and making the room ring with sound. She sang with confidence, and was very dramatic, slipping into the role with enthusiasm. Christine felt small and insignificant next to this woman, whose great voice danced seemingly effortlessly up and down the scale, reaching high notes with ease, although admittedly her vibrato was a bit heavy. Her French could have used some work as well, Christine noted. Though she was not bilingual herself, Meg and her mother spoke fluent French, and so Christine knew what it ought to sound like. Christine wondered what Erik would think of her slightly overdone style.

And so the rehearsal carried on, with several ensemble numbers and a few more solos. Every song was beautiful, and Christine felt her confidence begin to wane. All too soon, Nick cleared his throat and said: "and now, a newcomer to our stage, Miss Christine Daaé! She will be singing—um, what is it you're singing, sweetheart?"

"She's singing Gia Il sole Dal Gan Ge, dolt. You are a pretty unsatisfactory MC if you don't even know what people are singing!" This comment came from Mercy at the piano.

"Hell, I don't' know if I can pronounce that! And I am no dolt, woman! I'm a fantastic MC, and—"

"Get on with it!" This came from Scott.

"Right! Miss Christine Daaé, singing…that song which I'll practice pronouncing later!"

For one horrible second, Christine felt that her feet had been rooted to the floor, and that she was physically incapable of rising to her feet. Then, she thought of Erik telling her that her voice was lovely. She had to prove herself before these expectant people, lest they think less of her for not even having the courage to sing before them. She could not freeze up, either now or on Friday when the room would be packed to capacity with eager (and likely judgmental) audience members.

Shakily, she rose and clambered ungracefully onto the stage, and turned to face the nearly empty room. Then panic set in with full force. She simply stood, heart hammering painfully in her chest, sweat breaking out on her forehead, mind racing, and body unable to assume the proper stance for singing. Oddly enough, it was Michael's unexpectedly encouraging smile that gave her the courage to carry on. She nodded to Mercy, and the introduction she knew so well took her away from the theatre and from her audience, spiriting her away into the little music room where there was only her…and Erik.

Reaching deep inside of herself, she grasped the joy and ecstatic rapture that the song commanded, and began to sing. At First, her voice came out maddeningly soft and weak, betraying her fear and nervousness. At a gesture from Scott, she injected more power and volume into her voice and allowed the notes to float out of her throat instead of trickling out from between her dry lips.

Wanting to at least stand confidently beside these professional singers as Erik thought she could, Christine did her very best, and prayed it would be enough. Her sweet, crystal-clear voice floated out until it filled the theatre, and she sang with a delight that came from everywhere and nowhere. The rush of performing, even for such a small crowd overwhelmed her, and she revelled in the glorious sound her voice made as it echoed in the vast hall. She ended with a perfectly executed bit of ornamentation, and waited while the final chord died away. And then…silence; one of the loudest silences Christine had ever heard. She waited, and still there was no sound. She began to worry. Had she truly been so terrible? She knew she wasn't leading lady material but they could at least move on to the next singer!

Breaking through the silence, was Nicholas' applause. Then Arianna, Michael, Tara, Pierre, Mercy, Scott and even Carlotta joined in, though for some reason Carlotta looked a bit miffed. The applause was not forced or perfunctory. Rather, it was warm, and very enthusiastic, without any of the dramatic quality it had had before.

Michael smiled radiantly at Christine again, and she felt very warm inside.

Scott coughed once and then said gruffly: "Well…congratulations Miss Daaé, you will be performing on Friday."

Weak with relief, Christine simply stood, unsure of what to do. She could only grin stupidly at all of them, as they unreservedly showed how impressed they were with her performance. Finally, Nick rescued her by stepping back on stage, gripping her by the hand, and leading her back to her seat.

"You're absolutely amazing, love. Good for you," and he pressed her hand gently before releasing it.

Arianna smiled gently at her, and Michael reached over to pat her on the back. Even Pierre gave her the thumbs up sign.

"Well done, Christine," Carlotta said cheerfully, though Christine had a feeling she was not being altogether genuine. Still, everyone else seemed pleased enough, and that was sufficient at the moment. This was so much more than she had hoped for. She had expected that at best, the other performers would allow her to sing, but they would not be happy about it. These kindly people seemed honestly glad she had come. Mercy's glowing smile was yet another reward, and Christine's cup of happiness was filled to the brim. She realized that the one person she could not wait to confide in, was Erik. She hoped with all her heart, that he would be proud.

a/n2: Unfortunately—as you may have noticed—I have found myself without a beta. I am not certain what happened to her, but she has not contacted me or updated her own stories for a long time, and so I presume something has happened to shift her attention away from the internet. As much as I hate to replace her, I must ask for a new beta. Is anybody willing? If you are, either PM me, email me, (my email can be found on my profile) climb through my window at an absurd hour and notify me, knock me out of my chair and proceed to edit my stuff, or leave it in a review. Thanks in advance!

Thanks for sticking with me this far all of you, and please keep reading!

Hugs and kisses,

Es


	8. Chapter 8 Preparations

A/n: I know, I know, I know, I'm a terrible person. Feel free to berate me mercilessly for the atrocious five-month wait I've imposed upon you all. Life has been a little hard on me lately but I'm hoping to get back into a slightly more regular routine so that you guys won't have time to completely forget what happens in the story before another chapter is published. Here's the next chapter and I hope it pleases!

Here are some review replies:

Trep—As usual, thank you so much for the review! I'm still reeling over the fact that you really find this story worthy of your consideration (this goes for each of my readers) and I am extremely sorry for the wait I continue to put you through between updates. I truly hope I can improve upon this in future. Keep reading, and I hope you continue to enjoy!

Muse—You get an especially enormous virtual hug from me for leaving not one but two reviews! I have enabled anonymous reviews so that you guys can post twice without any trouble. I notice that you (and another reader also) have been linking my new characters to characters in the musical or book. This is only half way accurate—some of them (such as Pierre) were modeled after characters in the original story, but many of them (such as Nick and Mercy) are all mine. I'm glad you like Nick—he's one of my favourites as well. It's a guilty pleasure, giving him as much attention as I do, but what can I say…he's a fun character to write. Hmm…I didn't make the connection between Meg and Arianna, but I suppose they are somewhat alike. Meg's a lot more outspoken than Arianna, though. As for your extremely kind comments in the first review you left me, I am so pleased and honoured to receive such positive feedback. You have the gift of encouraging me when I feel like giving up on this altogether, so thank you for that. Thanks also for the offer of a beta; I decided to go with someone else, but I'll definitely look you up if I get another story on the go. Thank you so much again, I really, really hope you keep reading! I'd miss you if you stopped!

Barb—Thanks as always for your review! Yes, I didn't want to make Carlotta too two-dimensional, and so I made her deceptively kind. I'm sick of the diva act as well. It's just unrealistic to expect a modern-day theatre to put up with someone who throws tantrums on a regular basses, and so I thought it'd make more sense to make her a bit more rounded as a person. I realize I'm about five months behind now, but I hope the family emergency resolved itself. Please keep reading and reviewing!

Etoile du Bolshoi—Thanks for the review—strange as it was. Lol No, Carlotta has not been taking any illegal substances (at least, not yet) and you get Erik cookies for spotting the MC allusion. Good for you! Keep reading!

JadedWarrior—Thank you so much for your review! My, that is a bit creepy isn't it? Aww, you were thinking of my fic? I'm all warm and fuzzy now! I'm sorry that your request for me to update soon was not in any way fulfilled, (unless you're an elf or something and five months is about a second) but I hope this chapter is even half worth the wait. Keep reading! By the way, I love and encourage lengthy reviews!

Tina95—Thank you for the review! As I've mentioned above to Muse, I've accepted someone else's help, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your offer. Yes, there are requirements to become a beta, but they aren't too difficult to meet. You do have to have a certain amount of words published on the site, though. Some of these characters were completely born of my imagination, and so not all of them will be easily linked to the original characters. I do hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Special thanks are given to my new and much-beloved beta, Etoile du Bolshoi! She is one of the most thorough and dedicated people I know, and I thank her from the bottom of my heart for all her hard work so far. I must also admit that the design of Christine's dress in this chapter is all her idea. Thanks EdB!

And now…

Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter 8 Preparations

Christine made her way along the lush carpeting of a hallway inside the Mackenzie Theatre, searching for a washroom. She had meant to ask Mercy or one of the others to assist her, but they had all gathered around to chat about last-minute adjustments, and she had felt intrusive. Instead, she resolved to go looking for the washrooms herself. It was a public building after all; they could not have hidden the rest rooms so thoroughly as to make them impossible to find.

It was when she passed by the managers' office door that she concluded she must have gone the wrong way and should go back and ask for help, but she halted when she heard her name.

"—Christine? Oh, she's alright for some little music festival or recital, but definitely not fitting for this kind of stage. Don't get me wrong, she's a pretty girl and very charming, and she does have some talent, but I just don't know if it's wise to feature her along with professionals on a whim like this." Christine recognized the speaker as Carlotta, and her blood seemed to freeze inside her body, as she stood listening with a sinking heart.

She heard a man's voice reply. "Well…It's not exactly a whim, Ms. Martinez; we have little choice but to allow her to perform. Mr. Chagny is now supporting her talents. Apparently, she's dating our patron's son."

"Oh for God's sake! Look, there's something that's not adding up here. So Mr. Chagny is standing behind Christine now, but who in the hell recommended her in the first place? She's a nobody…I saw her! Nervous as a turkey on market day! She doesn't sing in public obviously, because she's got a serious lack of confidence on stage. So who told you to suddenly invite her to your concert? This is a prestigious theatre, not a talent show!"

Another man answered her, sounding somewhat sheepish. "Well…actually, we received an anonymous note concerning Miss Daaé's talent, which was not only worded rather threateningly, but which also contained an incentive of sorts—"

"Are you kidding me? You were bribed, weren't you? What kind of place is this? Are you telling me that you have so little integrity that you'd let a little money sway your decision to invite some talentless little want a-be opera singer to your concert? This is absolutely disgusting!"

"Actually Ms. Martinez," the first man broke in once more, "Scott ran over here a few minutes ago and told us to add her to our list so Marlene could make up the programs. From what he said, Christine Daaé is quite the singer. Said she'd fit right in with the rest of them. Besides, the rehearsal was something of an audition tonight anyway. Had she turned out to be terrible, we'd have told her 'thanks but no thanks' and sent her on her way. I'm sorry, and I know you don't like it, but it's better this way. Share the limelight a little, won't you?"

This elicited a dramatic gasp from Carlotta. Christine had not fancied Carlotta as the diva type until now. "You have a lot of nerve speaking to me like that! Just because I express concern about our concert not reaching its full potential because of one unsatisfactory upstart who isn't even on the payroll! Why, I could zip on back to Toronto or even New York if I wanted, but here I am working with this lowly little theatre. I should think you'd be a bit more grateful. I am the headliner, after all."

Hearing Carlotta's angry footsteps approaching the door, Christine hastily fled back down the hallway to avoid having to face the woman. She felt incredibly stupid for having bought in to Carlotta's friendly mentor act. Why had she not seen it before? She now understood Mercy's use of the words "her majesty" when describing Carlotta. She didn't seem to be all bad—Mercy was the only one who seemed to dislike her—but she was certainly protective of her territory.

Forgetting completely about her need for a washroom, Christine hurried back the way she had come to avoid meeting Carlotta, and hurried across the foyer and into the cold night air. December in Canada was frigid, but Christine paid no attention to this minor discomfort as she waited for Raoul to return to collect her. Oblivious to the harsh wind, she waited. She checked her watch for the second time in a minute, and groaned. Raoul wasn't exactly late, but another five minutes and she'd go insane from waiting. She was fighting valiantly not to sob like an infant, but she was slowly losing the battle.

"Christine…are you alright? Aren't you freezing out here?"

Christine jumped in surprise, then turned to see Michael emerging from the building, a large folder in one hand and his half-filled water bottle in the other. His warm gaze was filled with concern as he surveyed the shivering young girl with the over-bright eyes.

"Yeah…I'm fine," was Christine's thoroughly unconvincing reply. She could immediately perceive that Michael wasn't the least bit fooled, and self-defeat mingled with despair began to settle over her. She had never been very adept at disguising her emotions.

He paused and turned fully to face her. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to come inside till your ride gets here?"

Touched, but driven by a need to be silent and still in her misery, Christine shook her head weakly, not daring to open her mouth.

"Christine…you're positively shivering."

"Really," she squeaked "I'm okay. It isn't that cold."

"Well, is there anything else wrong? You look like someone's gone and broken your heart or something."

"Oh I'm okay…just…life's been a little stressful lately, and I'm a bit scared of this whole thing and—"

"That's really not necessary, Christine," he assured her with a genuine smile, "you're brilliant. As good as any of us. All you need is a little stage polishing, and really, we all need that no matter how much experience we have. Just…do what you did tonight and everything will work out."

Very slightly relaxed by these heartfelt words of assurance, Christine managed a feeble smile. "Thanks."

"Any time. Say, is that your ride?"

"Oh! Yes, see you on Friday." Christine waved as she rushed with rather too much enthusiasm towards Raoul's approaching car, flung herself down on the seat, shut the door more firmly than usual, and collapsed against the head rest, feeling more secure in the conviction that the tears could wait till she was alone.

"How'd it go, babe?" Raoul asked, a small smile on his face as he navigated the dark streets towards her home.

'Here we go again…smile and lie through your teeth' Christine thought cynically to herself. She hitched a smile onto her face and responded as cheerfully as she dared without appearing artificial.

"Oh, it was great. Everyone was so nice, I got to meet a fairly big name, and the theatre was as beautiful as I remembered!"

"That's awesome! I'm excited to come watch. Dad got tickets for Meg and me."

Feeling slightly cheered by this news, Christine's smile became less fabricated. "That makes me feel better. I don't know if I could be brave enough to go through with it without the fear of Meg yelling from the audience for me to "just do it, damn it"."

Raoul laughed, a disgustingly light-hearted sound to Christine's ears, and they drove the rest of the way in silence.

Raoul showed signs of wanting to stay when he dropped Christine off at her home, but she made it a point to act tired and, like the gentleman that he was, he merely kissed her goodnight and drove off. Infinitely grateful for the silent house, (her grandmother was asleep) Christine crept up to her bedroom, locked her door, turned on soft music just loudly enough so that it would mask any sounds coming from her bedroom, and buried her face in her pillow. Everything seemed so terribly sharp and clear in those moments, and she could not even begin to know how to bare it all. Carlotta Martinez thought her talentless, she had been fooled, and—perhaps worst of all—the only reason she had been asked to perform at the benefit concert was because someone had threatened and bribed the managers of the theatre. How was she expected to arrive on Friday and sing, knowing that she was neither wanted nor welcome?

She found herself questioning the kindness everyone had treated her with. Were they all like Carlotta, merely hiding their distaste for her behind facades of warmth? The thought made her feel physically ill, and she had to concentrate on inhaling slow, deep breaths to prevent herself from being sick all over her pillow. Time stopped, and she lay in a kind of miserable stupor, wallowing in her emotions until sleep took pity on her and began to gather her up. The last thing she heard before she drifted off completely, was the impossibly beautiful but distant sound of someone singing. This, she thought later, must have been a product of her exhausted mind, but she supposed it was the only thing that allowed her peace.

"Soooooo, tell me everything! How'd it go? What was it like? Were they nice—shit, sweetie, you really have to take it easy. You look like you've been up all night. Is it your Grandma?"

Meg's chirpy voice cut through Christine's muddled thoughts as she gathered her books for first block the next morning. As usual, Meg's bluntness did not offend Christine, but she was put out by the fact that her efforts to conceal the dark shadows under her eyes and the pale, haunted look of her face had failed. She hoped that other people were not as perceptive as Meg.

"No no, she's fine. Well…she's not doing very well of course, but she was fine last night. I just…didn't get much sleep, that's all. Mr. Khan's essay and all—"

"Um, Christine, you handed in that paper two days ago. Are you sure you're okay?" Meg laid a cool hand against Christine's forehead in an uncharacteristically motherly gesture.

"Really Meg I'm fine," Christine replied a little impatiently, pushing Meg's hand away. "I'm just tired. I guess all this rehearsing is catching up with me. I don't know where my brain is today."

"Well then," Meg said brightly, "don't practice tonight. Or tomorrow, if you don't need to. Just go home and relax for a few hours. You only have to be there at seven thirty anyway. I'll come around at quarter to six or so to fix you up. What are you wearing, by the way?"

"Oh, that blue dress I guess. It's all I've got, really. And what do you mean by 'fix me up?'"

Meg sighed. "You know…do your make-up and hair and stuff. And, that old thing? You've had it since you were about fourteen!"

It was Christine's turn to sigh. "Fifteen. Besides, what else can I do? I haven't got another dress that's formal enough." She did not voice the fact that selecting which dress to wear would be the least of her worries. She resolved to keep all this mess to herself, do the show, and forget the whole thing. It would simply be a dark blot on her memories, which were already filled with them anyhow. What was one more hardship?

"It's too bad you wouldn't fit into any of my stuff. I have this gorgeous outfit you could've borrowed. Ah well, you'll look gorgeous regardless."

"I can do my own hair and make-up, Meg Giry," Christine muttered, frowning at her friend. The blonde actually laughed.

"I'm all over this one, Chris. You'll look fabulous, and besides, it'll give you a chance to relax and get in the mood for singing. You'll run yourself into the ground if you go on like this."

Christine dropped her dark mood momentarily in order to embrace her best friend. Where would she be without Meg? Meg was her rock, one of the few things that anchored her to the ground and kept her hoping things would eventually improve. Meg returned the embrace with enthusiasm, and only released Christine when the bell rang, signaling the beginning of classes. Meg hurried off to biology, while Christine headed for English. It was as though Meg were a source of light and happiness, and that when she was gone Christine descended into her black mood again.

"Cheer up, Christine, cavalier poetry this morning." Mr. Matthews addressed her as she trudged into class, one of the first people to arrive.

She forced a smile, (even though she really did love the cavalier poets) and sat down, burying her nose in her book.

Christine made it through the remainder of Thursday and Friday without having to tell Meg, Raoul or her grandmother any unpleasant details about her rehearsal at the Mackenzie. She had merely given them the impression that everyone had been charming and that she was excited to perform there. They blamed her strange weariness on nerves. Following Meg's advice, Christine did not attend her daily lesson with Erik on Thursday evening, but she dared not skip it on Friday, knowing he would be furious if she did not run through her material one more time. And so it was with much trepidation that Christine opened the music room door on Friday night, awaiting the tempest. Although Erik had never flown into a complete rage around Christine, he had become angry enough with her at times to turn very cold and harsh, and instinctively she knew his temper must not be a pretty sight.

"Good evening, Christine."

She almost failed at concealing her surprise at his calm manner.

"Hello, Erik."

"Our lesson will be gentle today. It would not do to tire your voice before you have the chance to use it. I will take you through some extensive warm-up, and you will only have to sing a few scales before the performance to ensure your voice is sufficiently limber."

She nodded, then rummaged in her backpack for the music which Mercy had returned to her after the rehearsal. Finding it, she handed it to Erik, who obligingly positioned it before him on the piano. She was certain he did not actually require the sheet music, but she always made sure it was there just in case she was wrong. Erik motioned for her to assume the proper stance for song, and began to walk her through some very complex vocal exercises in preparation for her aria.

Christine could not conceal her relieved expression when for the first time ever, Erik did not criticize or correct her. In fact, he was mysteriously silent after her run through "Gia Il Sole" and after a few seconds she began to suspect he had forgotten she was there. Tentatively, she moved to his side and touched his shoulder briefly. Even such a momentary contact was enough to feel how thin his frame truly was. 'He needs to eat more' she thought almost sympathetically.

Erik tensed momentarily at her touch, then stood suddenly. Laying both of his icy hands on her shoulders, he gazed directly into her eyes and murmured softly: "They will adore you."

Something in his voice was even more hypnotic than usual, and Christine felt herself beginning to relax fully for the first time since she had overheard Carlotta in the managers' office.

"I wish…that you could come. I mean…I'm sure you have better things to do but—" Christine's cheeks were suddenly stained with a deep blush of embarrassment. She did not know why those words had come out of her mouth or from whence they came, but she knew she had not intended to say them. Up until this point she had not even considered what it would be like to have Erik watch her performance. Now that she thought about it however, he had invested so much time and effort into her voice in these past weeks that he may have wanted to attend the concert to watch her put his hard work to use. Somehow, Christine could not imagine a man like Erik attending her performance; he would probably not find it worth his time. Praying he would not dismiss the idea with indifference, she dared to look up and meet his gaze, willing the colour to retreat from her cheeks.

"You…would like me to be there?"

Was she imagining it, or had Erik actually…shivered slightly? His frame was definitely tenser than usual and the grip on her shoulders had tightened to just below the point of discomfort.

"Of course! I mean, if you want to…" she trailed off weakly.

As if by magic, Erik's body relaxed, his grip on her shoulders slackened somewhat, and the visible side of his mouth actually twitched upward. It was the first time Erik had smiled, at least perceptibly.

"Then, I will be there."

Relief swept over Christine, as well as a warm glow of reassurance. Without knowing why, knowing Erik would be near when she sang made her feel more secure. Although she was not necessarily looking forward to the concert knowing what she now knew, she could at least strive to make Erik proud if possible.

Quite suddenly, Erik released her shoulders and resumed his seat at the piano.

"Sit," he prompted, gesturing gracefully to the only chair in the room. "I will play for you."

Smiling with anticipation, Christine obeyed and listened rapturously to Erik's magnificent music, losing herself in the exquisite melodies he created seemingly effortlessly. A gentle sigh, barely audible, issued from her lips, and the little smile of contentment never left her face until he finally drew his song to a close. Now that the spell was broken, Christine glanced at her watch and was surprised to find that the bus she normally caught was due in less than five minutes.

"I've got to go!" she exclaimed, and her outburst seemed unbearably unlovely and intrusive after the beauty of Erik's music. Erik seemed to emerge from a kind of trance and, standing, he removed her sheet music from the top of the piano and handed it to her.

"You must not forget this, my dear," he said softly, and she could have sworn a chuckle lingered in his voice. He seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood.

Blushing again, Christine accepted the sheet music and hurried to the door. Gathering her backpack and jacket, she opened the door and prepared to leave. She glanced back once however, only to see Erik smiling at her again—or at least it looked as though he was smiling—and she returned the expression warmly.

"See you in a bit, then," she offered, and he nodded. She was dismissed.

"For God's sake, hold still, Chris!" Meg cried out, as Christine squirmed in her chair. She had been forced to occupy a stool before her bathroom mirror , and Meg was busily applying her make-up for her.

"I'm sorry, Meggy," Christine muttered apologetically, willing her treacherous eyes not to water and ruin all of her friend's hard work. "It's just…I hate seeing you come at me with that brush; it freaks me out."

"My God, the girl's paranoid," Meg drawled, "What am I going to do with you, miss Chris? How do you expect to allow someone to do your make-up when you're rich and famous, hmm?"

Christine allowed herself a cynical snort of laughter. A week ago she would have smiled at the idea, because the possibility was always there, shining like a distant star she longed to reach out for. Now though, she merely felt defeated, and was seriously considering dropping her singing altogether after this concert. "Oh yes…I'm going to be a famous diva who has people to do everything for her, riiiiiiight."

"What's with the sarcasm, hon? It's not like it's impossible. Hell, you're going for your first real gig tonight, what's with the sulking?"

"Meg!" Christine protested indignantly. "Gig? You're making me sound like some punk singer or something."

"Whatever," Meg murmured absently, "the point is you're being difficult and I wish you'd just show a little excite—damn it! Christine Daaé, if you don't stop blinking while I'm trying to put mascara on you, I'm going to have to inflict some very painful punishment on you." Meg put on her most frightening expression which, to her dismay, only made Christine giggle.

"Alright, I have to start over on that eye now," Meg complained wearily, sighing for effect and dabbing at Christine's eye to try to remedy the damage.

"By the way, you need to get acquainted with a little thing called a good night's sleep, sweetie. You look like you haven't slept in years! It's going to take a miracle to hide these shadows under your eyes…and your eyes are so pretty, it's too bad you don't take care of yourself better."

"Thanks," Christine growled sarcastically. "you always could make a girl feel her best."

"What can I say…" Meg teased, feigning modesty.

Finally, after an agonizing half hour, Meg announced: "Okay prima donna, you're officially fabulous. Have a look!"

Christine waited for Meg to move away from the mirror and then studied her reflection intently. Meg truly was a miracle worker. The shadows under Christine's eyes were completely concealed, leaving her appearing much healthier than she had previously. Her cheeks were rosy rather than their customary white, and her hair had been swept into elegant curls which framed her face, lending her an air of sophistication she definitely had not had before. It was a marvel that Meg had managed to tame Christine's unruly hair, and the only thing that kept her from embracing her friend was the possibility of ruining the magical effect by smudging make-up or displacing her hair. She felt fragile, and yet she also felt pretty, something she had not felt in a long, long time.

"Meg…thank you so much. This is great! I look…"

"Divinely beautiful?" Meg supplied, smiling.

"Sure!" Christine responded, laughing as well.

"Let's go get that dress of yours and try to get it on without messing up your hair."

Somewhat dismally, (for the blue dress would be yet another thing that would serve to drain her cup of happiness) Christine led the way into her bedroom, where she had laid out the dress that morning. Meg trailed behind, humming tunelessly. It was only when Christine opened her door and moved to her small bed that she halted in her tracks and gasped. Meg bumped into her from behind, not anticipating her friend's sudden stop, and peered over her shoulder.

"What's going on?"

"Meg…that is not my dress!"

Laid carefully upon the white bedspread, was the most exquisitely elegant gown Christine had ever seen. It was a golden champagne colour, and judging by the length, went to the floor.

"Oh my God…that is the most gorgeous thing I've seen in a really long time! Where did this come from?" Meg was intrigued, and Christine was more so. She fingered the soft, satiny material, and picked up the dress reverently. As she examined it from every glorious angle, she pondered who could have given her such a beautiful gift.

"I don't know where this comes from, but I assume someone got it for me. Do you think Raoul—"

"Well…it's possible, but I doubt it, Chris. This just doesn't seem like something he'd do. His taste isn't that good, and the only girl he really knows well enough to help him pick this out is me, and he sure as hell didn't ask me to pick this out for you. I'd have ruined the surprise already, if it had been me. But who cares who gave it to you, it's freakin' amazing! Try it on!"

Still stunned, Christine changed, with painstaking care into the new dress, and marveled at how well it fit her. The golden colour matched her hair and eyes perfectly. Christine turned in the mirror to see that almost her entire back was exposed. In fact, only two large, criss-crossed Swarovski crystal bands covered her back. The crystalline bands went over her shoulders from her back and down the sides of her breasts and back around. The material over her breasts was cinched while the rest of the gown hugged her tiny, yet apparent curves.

"At the risk of sounding cliché, it's like it was made for you!" Meg exclaimed in wonderment, looking Christine up and down. "Can you still breathe okay in it, though? You're always talking about how you hate tight dresses because you can't 'expand'." Meg placed a mocking emphasis on the last word.

Christine inhaled and exhaled experimentally, finding that the gown accommodated her breathing exceptionally well. Not only was the dress beautiful, it was exceedingly comfortable, at least for a formal gown.

"Turn around, let me see the back." Meg demanded, in full critic mode. Christine circled obligingly, allowing Meg a full view of the dress. Finally, Meg smiled widely once again.

"I definitely approve, it suits you. Now, to figure out who in the hell dropped by here and decided to give you an expensive dress for kicks."

"Yeah, now I think about it this is really, really weird. My luck has been far, far too good lately."

"Maybe your grandma had a hand in it?" Meg suggested.

"Hmm…that's a thought. Let's go see her, she's not doing very well at all lately, but she never shows it if she can help it. I'm sure she'd be glad to see you."

The girls left Christine's bedroom and proceeded across the hall to her grandmother's. Christine pushed open the door and slipped softly inside in case she was asleep.

"Grandma?" she murmured tentatively.

"Ah, Christine. Don't worry, I'm awake. Oh, hi Meg. How are you?"

Meg moved to stand beside Christine and smiled. "I'm pretty well, thanks." She dared not ask 'and you?' knowing an honest answer was probably not forthcoming. For a moment, an awkward silence reigned, until a startled gasp issued from Christine's grandmother.

"Christine! That dress is absolutely beautiful! When on Earth did you get that?"

Even through her bewilderment over the mysterious gown, Christine managed to grin happily, though her brow was still creased with confusion.

"Um…I didn't; that's the thing. I was supposed to wear that dress I wore for that Christmas Mass two years ago, and I laid it out this morning, I found this on my bed when I got here tonight. You didn't have anything to do with this did you?"

"No, definitely not. Although I wish I did—it's beautiful and it suits you exceptionally well. Maybe Raoul got it for you to surprise you? He knows where the key is, he could've slipped in here sometime today without my noticing."

"I highly doubt it, but that's the only thing that makes any kind of sense," Christine replied uncertainly. "Should…should I wear it? I feel weird knowing it's not really mine and having no idea how it got here."

"I don't see why not, just be careful with it," Christine's grandmother advised with a girlish grin.

Meg squealed then carefully embraced Christine. "You look so incredibly beautiful Chrissy!"

Christine hugged Meg back, feeling warmth spread through her. Perhaps Carlotta didn't approve of her, and maybe the rest of the people at the Mackenzie felt the same, and yes, perhaps someone was bribing the theatre in order for her to perform there, but why shouldn't she enjoy the fun while it lasted? She'd figure out all the confusing and sickeningly dreadful details about who was paying the managers off later. For now, she had to sing and think of nothing else. If she accomplished nothing else that evening, she wanted to make her loved ones proud, and of course she wanted to make Erik proud as well. She hoped fervently that he would smile at her again; coming from such a reserved man, this expression was more than she had ever hoped for. Once more, the question slipped into her mind like an unwelcome guest: why did she even care what he thought? He was practically a stranger, and he had been harsh as well as helpful on her little musical journey. Still, she wished for him to be pleased with her, and she pushed back the thoughts firmly as she always did.

A/n: Well, there you have it dear readers. I apologize that this chapter is brief and doesn't cover much ground, but the ninth chapter is nearly complete so it should be up soon. Happy new year to you all!


	9. Chapter 9 Sing!

A/n: Here's a quick update, as this and the previous chapter go together. Hopefully, this will somewhat atone for my atrociously late updating habits. I hope you enjoy!As there has been such a short time between updates this time around, I will not reply to reviews until you have all had time to read this chapter.

Thanks again to my wonderful beta Etoile du Bolshoi. You are amazing!

This chapter is dedicated to Muse; I have done as she suggested and given you all a tiny portion of Erik's own point of view at the foot of the chapter. I hope it pleases!

Happy reading!

Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter 9 Sing!

Christine entered the foyer of the Mackenzie Theatre to find it already half filled with eager patrons; the heavy scent of mingled perfumes assaulted her, but just one eyeful of the magnificence before her made it all seem breathtakingly exciting. It would almost certainly be a good turn-out, as there were already about a hundred people taking their seats, and there was another forty-five minutes before the show was due to start. At first, Christine had doubted whether the theatre (which held about two thousand people) would even be close to filled, but now she imagined that the house might actually be packed to capacity. Just the thought of a crowd of a thousand people or more made her feel physically ill, and she warded off the butterflies jockeying for position in her stomach with difficulty. Fighting her way towards the theatre itself, she smiled at Meg.

"Break a leg, darlin'" Meg chirped warmly, kissing Christine's cheek. "You're beautiful and talented and you're going to knock 'em dead!"

"Thank you, I'll see you and Raoul after the show…assuming he shows up. I don't see him anywhere…but this place is crowded."

Meg only shrugged.

Christine was just wondering where to go when she saw Mercy wading through the sea of people towards her, a radian smile on her pretty face. The little accompanist drew near to Christine and grasped her by the arm.

"I'm so sorry Christine; it looks as though Nick forgot to tell you to come through one of the side entrances, so you wouldn't have to be subjected to all this!" she gestured at the large crowd around them. "Damn fool," she muttered distractedly, pulling Christine along. "Okay, we've got a dressing-room all rigged up for you. I can come and get you to warm you up in a bit if you like. You look fantastic, by the way. That dress is stunning." Mercy's approving gaze and kind words made Christine feel truly beautiful, and she found it difficult to believe that Mercy was being completely artificial towards her. Maybe it was only Carlotta who disliked her. Christine hesitantly allowed herself to hope.

"Wow, a dressing-room? That's…really cool." She groaned inwardly at her own response but succeeded in keeping a blush from showing itself. She doubted whether a blush would show under all the make-up anyhow. Bless Meg and her many skills.

"Yes, m'dear, a dressing-room just for you. It's not much, but it'll do for your purposes. Will you need a warm-up at all?"

"No, I'll be fine, thanks Mercy. I warmed up a lot before coming, so I just need a run up and down some scales and I'll be ready to go."

"Good girl," Mercy replied, guiding Christine down a hallway and opening a door at the very end of it. Groping for a light switch, Mercy flooded the little room with light and Christine let out a contented sigh in spite of herself.

The room was small but somehow bright and spacious-looking. There were gleaming mirrors everywhere, displaying several reflections of Mercy and Christine all over the room. The mirrors were likely the cause of the illusion of space. A dressing-table stood against one wall, and the room was comfortably furnished with a stool before the dressing-table, a sofa pushed against one wall, and a folding chair in the opposite corner.

"Will this do?" Mercy asked, as though she truly wished to ensure Christine's satisfaction.

"Of course. It's perfect." Christine could only smile helplessly at the way she was being treated, feeling thoroughly undeserving.

"Will you need water or anything else?" Mercy inquired, as she made to leave the room.

"No, thanks. I've got some here." Christine dug in the purse she had slung over her shoulder, pulling out a water bottle.

"Awesome. Could I have your music or would you like to hold onto it for last-minute practicing?"

"You can have it."

With a final smile, Mercy edged out of the room, promising to send someone over later to give her a run-through of the concert and when she should expect to be performing.

"Just relax for a bit and someone'll come fill you in."

"Thanks so much…for everything." Christine felt the need to impress upon Mercy how truly touched she was over this whole affair. If they did not think her talented, let them at the very least find her pleasant and easy to work with.

"Oh honey, it's a pleasure for all of us. See you later, and don't be too nervous. Some nerves are good but don't let them take over." With one final encouraging smile, Mercy departed, and Christine was left alone for the first time in several hours.

Seating herself on the couch, Christine put her chin in her hands and allowed herself to take it all in. She was nervous but not overly so. She had come to terms with the fact that after this magical night she would return to her dull, drab little routine of life, but that she would at least have one jewel of an evening to remember when things got rough. At least, if she sang well and received an appreciative response from everyone, she could come away from this experience with a sense of accomplishment, though she honestly did plan to drop her music after this. It seemed each time she buried herself in it, bad things happened. In this case, she knew that the dreams her father had so ardently encouraged and allowed to grow were not possible, and she had to come to terms with that reality. She would never be a famous leading lady, and she had to accept it. It would be far too heartbreaking to continue aspiring for the unattainable, and she knew this in her heart. As much as it pained her, she understood this was the end of her music, and she needed to let it go. One last night…one final evening to relish it, and then she would move on to other, less risky things.

These melancholy thoughts were interrupted as her dressing-room door opened, and in walked Nick, his handsome face lit by a smile as enthusiastic as Mercy's.

"Well, good evening beautiful, how are you feeling?" Christine really did blush at Nick's easy charm and casual use of "beautiful" but she managed to smile back and play it cool.

"Okay… a bit nervous but nothing too horrible, thanks."

Nick's smile turned from teasing joviality to warm concern, as he laid a hand on her shoulder.

"You're alright? You're not…upset about anything, are you?"

"Um…no. Of course not, do I look upset?" Christine asked uncomfortably. Did she look as melancholy as her thoughts had been only a moment ago?

"Oh, no not at all. You look great actually; it's just that Mike said something about you being a bit…off colour the other day and I wanted to make sure you're okay. I'll stop badgering you, sorry if I'm prying. Fancy a rundown of what the program is going to look like?" As he said this, his expression became jovial and light once again, and he made himself comfortable on the couch beside her, a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Yes, please."

"Alright. First, we have a medley of songs played by the orchestra which has just flown in, (we had to grab some extra players as the selection here isn't very large for some strange reason) and then we have Michael and Arianna. Then there's a couple of ensemble groups… blah, blah, blah…Carlotta…intermission…more Carlotta…a bit of our resident crew…Miky and his violin…and you! You're closing the show, actually."

"Well," she muttered nervously, "it's better than opening it."

"Chin up, love. The last performer is always remembered by the audience. Your performance will be all they will be able to think about, and they'll go away with your song in their heads. By the way, I have no idea who composed your aria. Would you mind telling me so I can pencil it in?"

"Sure. Alessandro Scarlatti wrote this one."

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, scribbling it down on the corner of his program.

"So, you can relax backstage for most of the show, but you don't have to come out of here until the intermission if you don't want to. If you want to hear the show though, you're welcome to sit backstage. It's up to you."

"I think I'd like to hear everybody else. It might intimidate me, but at least it'll be entertaining and I can really enjoy myself before I send everyone running and screaming, demanding refunds."

"None of that now Miss Daaé, you're bloody brilliant and don't you let anyone else tell you that you aren't. Now, I'll be off, but I have to ask you before I forget: hand held microphone or clip-on?"

"I think I'd rather clip it onto this dress if I can. It'll leave me free to position myself correctly."

"As you like. Someone'll be back there to help you put it on. Those things are nothing short of nightmarish. Good luck to you, don't get too nervous, and don't worry about all those people out there, they hardly know good music from bad anyway. Even if you do bomb the song at least they'll love it anyway, though I'm fairly sure you'll do wonderfully." He flashed her his engaging smile and left.

Checking her watch, Christine saw that the show was due to start in about half an hour. This gave her the chance to do a little practicing before she had to get onstage. She strode across the room, looked one of her many reflections in the eye, and firmly chanted: "I will do well, and I won't make a single mistake. I know this song backwards, and I'll be okay. No need to freak out or be too nervous, I will be fine."

She began a few scales in a final attempt at preparation.

"Okay…this is going to be a bit difficult, so bear with me. I'll have to clip this mic somewhere on the back of your dress, so hopefully it'll all hold together. Can you hold your hair back so the headset will fit?"

Arianna and Christine stood backstage, attempting to adjust the microphone so that it would not be too visible. Though these types of microphones are a great nuisance to put on, they are generally preferable to hand held microphones, as they allow for complete liberty of movement.

Finally, after much struggling, they managed to finish the job, so that Christine's curls covered the headset and made it difficult to see unless you knew it was there.

"Fantastic! I can hardly see it, and onstage it'll be even harder to spot it. Does it feel alright?"

Christine nodded, feeling incapable of normal, coherent speech just then. She was on in about two minutes, and she suddenly felt an onrush of particularly powerful nerves. Suppressing the urge to throw up, she listened to Michael's violin solo, enjoying the smooth melodies he created in spite of her inner turmoil. 'What wouldn't I give to have Erik play for me right now' she thought longingly. She felt certain that the sound of his flawless music would have provided her with the necessary strength to relax and perform well. She was all on her own however, and now Michael was receiving thunderous applause. Only a few seconds now…and there was Nick's cheerful voice announcing her.

"Break a leg girl," Arianna whispered, nudging Christine gently in the direction of the stage. On legs that felt as though they were made of lead, Christine made her way out onto the well-lit stage, trying to smile and failing miserably. As she moved into position at the very centre of the stage, she felt the familiar freezing sensation; paralysis gripped her and she could only gaze out into the fuzzy theatre, being unable to se the many faces watching her but imagining them more vividly than ever. What if she forgot the words? What if her voice cracked on the first note and she was unable to move forward? What if her voice—which had sounded so strong and confident during her warm-up—came out weak and feeble? Just as she was preparing herself to bolt from the stage and race back to her dressing-room to hide from the world, she stiffened momentarily with shock as a voice—an unmistakable voice—whispered in her ear.

"Sing, Christine!"

She knew it could not be Erik's voice; she must have imagined it in her panicked state, but it was enough. She nodded to Mercy, whom she could just barely make out before the massive piano to her right, and her one-measure introduction rang out into the silence. The sound of it shattered both the stillness of the theatre and her paralyzed state, and she opened her mouth to do just as the voice had instructed. She sang. She gave no thought to the audience, or to the disastrous consequences if she made a mistake; she did not obsess over technique or stance or pronunciation; she did not worry about what she must look like or whether her breathing was well-synchronized; nor did she stress over her jaw and whether it had tensed or not. She simply sang, and hoped to heaven it was enough.

When people asked Christine later what it had been like to perform for such a prestigious event, she would have little to say. The truth was that she could not remember the performance very well, she only remembered how good it felt to release her pent-up little voice into such a vast room, and hear it ring back to her with a near-perfect sound. Of course, she also remembered the ecstatic applause she received at the end. It went on for so long that she felt obliged to take a second bow, something she had never dreamed she would ever get to do. The response was even more rapturous than any Carlotta had received that evening, and Christine could not help noticing this with a tiny amount of satisfaction she immediately felt guilty for. Someone demanded an encore as Christine prepared to exit the stage, and several people expressed approval. Stunned, Christine merely stood, trembling and at a loss for what to do. She had not counted on this, and she had no other piece prepared for this overwhelming crowd. She saw Mercy flipping through Christine's sheet music, and then the tiny woman jumped up and ran up to her on the stage.

"Christine, there's another piece of music tucked in with your aria. Why don't you sing that?" She held out the sheet music for "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring" the song Christine had sung for Erik some time earlier.

"I have no clue how that got there…but I guess I can sing it."

"Good," Mercy said shortly and raced back to her position at the piano. As the introduction to the song began, a roar from the crowd indicated their approval that their request was being fulfilled. Relaxing into position again, Christine sang this song with as much passion and rapture as she had the other, consequently dazzling everyone in the room.

In the concealing darkness of the theatre, Erik watched Christine sing with pounding pulse. She was so exquisitely beautiful, and her voice was even more so. He could not bring himself to gloat over his success—even though he was responsible for this lovely creature's perfect instrument—he could only feel awe and wonder at her prowess. The longing which had been growing in his withered heart for so long was building now in a climax of sweetest sadness, and he knew then that he could not simply bid her farewell after giving her wings as he had originally planned. No, he could never exist without her presence, for she made him remember why it was he continued to live. She was beautiful, and she would never be his…but that did not mean he could not try. He leaned back in his seat and watched his little songbird soar, wishing all the while that she would only look upon him with that enraptured gaze, and think a kind thought or two for him.


End file.
